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REMINISCENCES 


OF 


A    JOURNALIST 


BY 


CHARLES   T.   CONGDON 


"  At  mihi  cura 

Non  mediocris  inest,  fontes  ut  adire  remotes, 
Atque  haurire  queam  vitas  prscepta  beats." 

HOR.  Sat.  II.  4.  93-95. 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.  OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY 

1880 


Copyright,  iSSo, 
BY  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  AND  Co. 


All  rights  reserved. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE. 


5F0  tfje  fRemorjj 


THE  JOURNALISTS   WHO   HAVE   DEPARTED  ; 

TO  THE    KIND   CONSIDERATION   OF   THOSE 
WHO     STILL    REMAIN, 

Cfyis  Folume 

IS    AFFECTIONATELY    IASCRIBED. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 
INTRODUCTION '  •        1 

CHAPTER    I. 

THE    FIRST   DECADE. 

A  Newspaper  Office  of  the  Olden  Time. —A  Whaling 
Port  Fifty  Years  ago.  —  The  Colored  Population.— 
Stories  of  the  Old  Quakers 9 

CHAPTER    II. 

THE   FIRST   DECADE   CONCLUDED. 

Advertising  in  the  Old  Day.  —  Amusements.— '•  Political 
Controversies.  —  Democrats  and  Federalists.  —  The 
Election  of  John  Quincy  Adams.  —  John  Adams  and 
Franklin.  —  The  Anti-masonic  Excitement.  —  William 
Cullen  Bryant.  —  Early  Reading.  —  Ralph  Waldo 
Emerson 22 

CHAPTER    III. 

MEETING-HOUSES    AND    MINISTERS. 

The  Rev.  Orville  Dewey. — A  Pulpit  Plagiarist.  —  The 
Negro  Pew.  —  Colorphobia  in  School.  —  Ephraim  Pea- 
body. —  John  H.  Morrison. — John  Weiss.  —  Dr.  John 
O.  Choules.  —  Dr.  Channing.  —  A  Preacher  who  could  n't 
be  stopped.  —  John  Newland  Maffit.  —  Dr.  Samuel 
West.  —  John  Pierpont 36 


VJ  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    IV. 

PEDAGOGUES   AND   POLITICS. 

The  Old  Public  Schools.  —  The  Days  of  the  Rod.  —  An 
Old  Schoolmate.  —  Joseph  Lancaster.  —  Daniel  Webster 
in  Court.  —  Wendell  Phillips  in  Early  Life.  —  The  Days 
of  Presidents  Jackson  and  Van  Buren.  —  The  Massa- 
chusetts Democracy.  —  The  Rich  and  Poor.  —  Dr. 
Orestes  A.  Brownson.  —  George  Bancroft 60 

CHAPTER    V. 

OLD   POLITICS,    POLITICIANS,    AND   ORATORS. 

The  Whig  Party  previous  to  1840.  —  Methods  and  Dis- 
cipline of  the  Democratic  Party.  —  Amos  Kendall's 
Circular.  —  Richard  Haughtou.  —  The  Boston  Atlas  and 
Mr.  Webster.  —  The  Beginning  of  Henry  Wilson's 
Political  Career.  —  Edward  Everett.  —  Alexander  H. 
Everett.  —  Ruf  us  Choate 65 

CHAPTER    VI. 

WHIGS,    REPUBLICANS,    AND    DEMOCRATS. 

The  Campaign  of  1840.  —  General  Harrison  and  John 
Tyler.  —  Mr.  Webster  in  the  Tyler  Cabinet.  —  Caleb 
Cushing.  —Fletcher  Webster.  —  Robert  C.  Winthrop  .  78 

CHAPTER    VII. 

UNIVERSITY  DAYS. 

An  Episode  of  Student  Life.  — Dr.  Francis  Wayland.  — 
The  Old  Curriculum.  —  Dr.  Horatio  B.  Ilackett.  —  Pro- 
fessor Romeo  Elton.  —  Governor  William  Gaston. — 
Mr.  Justice  Bradley.  —  The  Old  Familiar  Faces.  — 
College  Manners  then  and  now 91 


CONTENTS.  Ml 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE   GiySAT   DORR   WAR. 

State  of  Affairs  previous  to  the  Rebellion.  —  The  Origin 
of  the  People's  Constitution.  —  Dr.  John  A.  Brown.  — 
"Governor"  Dorr.  —  The  Old  Rhode  Island  Bar. — 
General  Thomas  F.  Carpenter.  —  Interference  of  Dem- 
ocratic Governors 103 

CHAPTER    IX. 

LITERARY    MEMORIES. 

Literary  Characteristics.  —  The  Transcendental  Period.  — 
Influence  of  Carlyle. — Margaret  Fuller. —  Sarah 
Helen  Whitman. — Henry  Giles.  —  Literary  Remuner- 
ation   116 

CHAPTER    X. 

THE    BIRTH   OF   A   GREAT   PARTY. 

Old  Antislavery  Feeling.  —  A  Musical  Mob.  — The  Nom- 
ination of  Taylor  and  Cass.  —  The  Free-soil  Party.  — 
The  Massachusetts  Coalition  —  Henry  Wilson.  — 
Abbott  Lawrence.  —  Benjamin  F.  Hallett.  —  The  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Law.  —  Horace  Mann 128 

CHAPTER    XI. 

OLD   PARTIES   AXD   POLITICIANS. 

The  Know- Nothing  Movement  in  Massachusetts  —  Gover- 
nor Gardner.  —  Mr.  Wilson's  Election  to  the  Senate. 
—  Free  Soilers,  Republicans,  and  Coalitionists.  —  An- 
son  Burlingame.  —  Nathaniel  P.  Banks. — Francis  W. 
Bird.  —  Governor  John  A.  Andrew 142 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

.STATESMEN,   POLITICIANS,,  AND   ORATORS. 

Charles  Sumner.  —  William  H  Seward.  —  The  Boston 
Conservatives.  —  George  S.  Hillard.  —  Frederick  Doug- 
lass and  the  Garrisonians 158 

CHAPTER    XIII. 

A   DRAMATIC   EPISODE. 

The  Stage  Forty  Years  ago  and  Now.  —  Clara  Fisher.  — 
William  F.  Gates  —  Thomas  Hamblin.  —  A  Heavy 
Villain.  —  The  Old  Tragic  Actresses.  —  Mrs.  Sloman. 

—  The  Elder  Booth 174 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE    STAGE    AND    CONCERT-ROOM. 

Ellen  Tree.  —  Charles  Kean.  —  A  Memory  of  Talfourd's 
"Ion."  —  Edwin  Forrest — Anecdotes  of  that  Tra- 
gedian.—Public  Manias.  — Fanny  Elssler.  —  Ole  Bull. 
— Jenny  Lind 187 

CHAPTER     XV. 

A   GOSSIP   OF   POLITICS. 

The  Men  of  the  Caucuses.  —  The  Death  of  Daniel  Webster. 

—  Characteristics  of    that   Orator  and   Statesman.— 
TluMMlore  Parker. —His   Humanity  and   Natural    Re- 
ligion.—The  Hard  Fate  of  a  Newspaper  and  its  Editor. 
-  The  Fremont  Campaign.  —  An  Active  Member  of  the 

.200 


CONTENTS.  k 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

HORACE   GREELEY. 

Coming  to  New  York.  —  Misrepresentations  of  Mr.  Greeley. 

—  His  Personal   Opinions   apart  from   Politics.  —  His 
Love  of  Eight  and  Truth.  —  People  who  annoyed  him. 

—  His  Journalistic  Characteristics.  —  His  Plain  Speech 
and  Wit  and  Humor.  —  The  Presidential  Canvass.  — 

Mr.  Greeley 's  Death 215 

CHAPTER     XVII. 

OLD  FRIENDS   AND   ASSOCIATES. 

Mr.  Greeley  again.  —  His  Editorial  Methods.  —  His  Mem- 
ory of  what  pleased  him.  —  Richard  Hildreth.  —  Wil- 
liam H.  Fry. — The  Count  Gurowski.  —  Dr.  George 
Ripley  229 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

CONTRIBUTORS  AND  CORRESPONDENTS. 

Requirements  of  Journalism.  —  Bayard  Taylor.  —  His  Boy- 
ish Resolution  and  Early  Travel.  —  His  Letters  to  the 
Tribune.  —  His  Literary  Taste  and  Latest  Work.  — 
Robert  Carter.  —  A  Man  of  Facts.  —  Edmund  Quincy. 

—  The  Tribune  and  the  Draft  Riots  of  1863      ....    240 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

OLLA   PODRIDA. 

Progress  of  Antislavery  Agitation.  —  A  Great  Historic 
Period.  —  Newspapers  before  that  Time.  —  The  Miller 
Excitement.  —  Garroting  in  New  York  in  1857.  —  The 
Burdell  Murder.  —  Things  which  have  had  Runs. — 
The  First  Dress  Reform.  —  Cheap  Books  and  News- 
papers   ' 252 


x  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XX. 

A   LAST   "  TRIBUNE  "    RECOLLECTION. 

The  Private  History  of  a  Newspaper.  —  Methods  and 
Mistakes.  —  Domestic  Critics.  —  "  Tom  "  Rooker.  — 
Good  Copy  and  Bad.  —  Bidding  the  Old  Office  Farewell. 

—  The    Young    Poets.  —  Mr.  E.   C.    Stedman.  —  The 
Diamond  Wedding.  —  Newspaper  Correspondence,  Past 

and  Present 265 

CHAPTER    XXI. 

THE   DAYS   OF    THE   KANSAS   BILL. 

A  Sensitive  Statesman.  —  Dr.  Nathan  Lord  and  his  School. 

—  An    Apology  for    Pro-Slavery    Clergymen.  —  First 
Visit  to  Washington.  —  First  Impressions  of  Slavery.  — 
A    Greek    Letter    Anniversary.  —  Augustus      Caesar 
Dodge.  —  Stephen  A.  Douglas.  —  Thomas  D.  Eliot.  — 
Professor  Henry 278 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

OLD   TIMES   AND   TRAITS. 

New  York  half  a  Century  since.  —  An  Old  New  England 
Town.  —  My  First  Tragedy. —  Social  Characteristics. 

—  Stage  Coach  Travelling.  —  Ancient  Amusements.  — 

A  Fine  Old  Lady 292 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

MORE   NEWSPAPER   EXPERIENCES. 

Errors  and  their  Correctors.  —  Private  Sensitiveness.  — 
The  Man  who  wants  to  run  for  Congress.  —  Actors  and 
Actresses.  —  The  Abominable  Devices.  —  Feats  of  Ex- 
temporaneous Production. —  A  Great  Critic  and  Jour- 
nalist    .307 


CONTENTS.  XI 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

NEWSPAPER   DIDACTICS. 

Training  for  Journalism.  —  The  Office  the  Best  School.  — 
Wasted  Opportunities.  —  What  a  Real  Newspaper  is. 
The  Old  Editors.  —  The  Rewards  of  Journalism.  —  Its 
Associations  and  Dignity 322 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

NEWSPAPER   PERILS. 

Bohemianism.  —  The  Pleasure  and  the  Penalty.  —  The 
King  of  the  Bohemians.  —  A  Brilliant  Dramatic  Critic. 
—  Three  Jolly  Painters.  —  Comic  Newspapers  and  their 
Doleful  Fate.  —  A  Plenty  of  Good  Advice  gratis  .  .  .  335 

CHAPTER    XXVI. 

A   GOSSIP   OF    LETTERS. 

The  Beginnings  of  American  Literature.  —  The  Author  of 
"Old  Grimes."  — Mr.  Kettell's  "  Specimens."  —  The 
Aspirations  of  Boyhood.  —  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis.  —  Early 
American  Book  Manufacture.  —  A  Story  with  a  Moral.  348 

CHAPTER    XXVH. 

BOOK   COLLECTING. 

The  First  Old  Book.  —  Charms  of  Ancient  Volumes.  — 
Scholarship  of  the  Old  Writers.  —  Aldus,  Froben, 
Schoeffer,  Elzevir.  — Prizes  in  the  Lottery.  —  Annotated 
Books  and  Books  with  Autographs.  —  The  Solace  t>f 
Reading 363 


Xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

VALEDICTORY. 

The  Fascinations  of  Journalism.  —  The  Choice  of  a  Profes- 
sion.—  Newspaper  Work  as  a  Calling.  —  A  Word  for 
my  Correspondents.  —  The  Men  of  the  Past.  —  The 
Perpetuity  of  the  Republic.  —  The  Last  Greeting  .  .  376 

INDEX .387 


INTRODUCTION. 


IT  was  long  ago  observed  that  if  the  obscurest 
person  would  but  write  his  life  with  perfect 
freedom  and  a  sturdy  veracity,  the  book,  in  spite  of 
the  mediocrity  of  the  author's  career  or  talents,  could 
hardly  be  dull.  We  are  all  men  together,  liking  to 
learn  each  other's  foibles,  to  get  away  from  the  weari- 
some task  of  minding  our  own  business,  and  to  enjoy 
the  feminine  satisfaction  of  acquiring  each  other's 
secrets.  Autobiography  occupies  a  distinct  position 
in  the  literature  of  all  languages,  yet  our  English 
tongue  can  hardly  be  regarded  as  rich  in  it.  It  is 
the  religious  people  who  have  chiefly  made  the  world 
their  confidants,  and  among  the  religious  people, 
mainly  the  Methodists  and  the  Quakers,  with  now 
and  then  a  contribution  from  the  Presbyterian  quar- 
ter of  dissent.  These  books,  of  which  I  have  read 
many  with  a  peculiar  pleasure,  have  usually  the 
beauty  of  perfect  candor  and  the  race  of  complete 
self-knowledge.  This  has  rendered  graceful  and 
winning  the  autobiographies  of  extremely  illiterate 
persons.  It  has  found  an  immortal  expression  in 


2  INTRODUCTION. 

"The  Pilgrim's  Progress"  and  in  the  Diary,  less 
generally  known,  of  George  Fox,  the  proto-Quaker. 
The  last  work  drew  from  Sir  James  Mackintosh 
words  of  praise  which,  to  cooler  minds,  may  seem  a 
little  exaggerated.  But  there  is  something  delightful 
about  all  the  Quaker  autobiographies.  Charles  Lamb 
felt  their  charm,  and  was  never  weary  of  reading 
and  of  praising  them.  Their  frankness  is  their  fas- 
cination. For  there  can  be  nothing  more  engaging 
than  a  fresli  and  unstudied  narration  of  religious 
experience,  the  abandon  of  conscientious  veracity, 
the  unadorned  history  of  an  individual  soul,  in 
its  rise  from  the  depths  of  despair  to  the  exalted 
regions  of  an  unquestioning  faith ;  and  a  man  who, 
by  the  nature  of  his  intellectual  constitution,  is 
doomed  always  to  grope  in  the  twilight  of  a  lonely 
scepticism,  may  well  envy  these  costly  consolations 
of  the  poor,  the  unlettered,  and  the  despised.  The 
Quakers,  believing  in  immediate  and  personal  reve- 
lation, thought  nothing,  in  writing  of  themselves,  too 
mean  to  be  recorded,  nothing  too  insignificant  to  be 
set  down.  One  of  the  most  charming  of  these 
Quaker  autobiographies  is  that  of  Thomas  Elwood. 
Honest  John  Whitehead,  who  supervised  its  publi- 
cation after  Elwood's  death,  begins  his  Preface  with 
the  Scriptural  quotation,  "  Gather  up  the  fragments 
that  remain,  that  nothing  be  lost."  I  do  not  know 
that  the  title-page  of  any  autobiography  could  be 
garnished  with  a  more  appropriate  motto. 

It  may  be  said,  to  the  credit  of  human  nature, 


INTRODUCTION'.  "3 

which  sorely  needs  all  the  credit  to  which  it  is  en- 
titled, that  most  autobiographies  are  thoroughly  can- 
did, and  bear  upon  their  pages  the  golden  stamp  of 
unflinching  truth.  Somebody  said  of  the  memoirs 
of  actors  and  of  actresses,  that  their  autobiographies 
only  were  to  be  trusted  because  they  alone,  of  all 
who  indulged  in  such  confessions,  had  bidden  farewell 
to  respectability.  The  observation  is  neither  good- 
natured  nor  strictly  true.  A  writer  of  philosophical 
instincts  probably  feels  that  if  the  work  is  to  be 
done  at  all,  it  should  be  done  accurately  and  with- 
out squeamish  reserve ;  that  truth  is  not  alone  the 
best,  but  the  only  policy ;  that  to  make  a  clean  breast 
of  it  will  put  him  most  nearly  right  in  the  court  of 
posterity.  Moreover,  without  some  detail  of  his 
shortcomings  he  will  find  no  natural  and  logical 
footing  for  his  extenuations.  Lacking  the  complet- 
est  candor,  the  book  has  no  excuse  for  being,  and  is 
no  more  than  a  literary  impertinence.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  we  pardon  the  naked  and  sometimes 
disagreeable  frankness  of  Eousseau.  The  "  Memoirs 
of  Dr.  Franklin,"  dishonestly  expurgated  as  they  were 
upon  their  first  appearance,  even  then  contained 
evidence  of  strict  sincerity  and  judicial  impartiality. 
It  was  as  if  we  had  been  admitted  to  a  friendly  con- 
versation with  that  admirable  ornament  of  his  race. 
The  fragment  left  by  Gibbon  relates  mainly  to  his 
studies,  their  wide  scope  and  scholarly  method ;  but 
it  must  be  remembered  that  his  studies  were  the 
main  business  of  the  most  erudite  of  historians,  whose 


4  INTRODUCTION. 

large  scholarship  stands  all  possible  test's,  and  aston- 
ishes all  his  commentators  by  its  scrupulous  accuracy 
in  the  obscurest  and  minutest  details.  The  autobi- 
ography of  Goethe,  I  fancy,  has  been  more  talked  of 
than  read,  at  least  in  the  English  language.  Most 
find  it  a  rather  dull  piece  of  auto-anatomy,  the  less 
needed  because  the  personality  of  the  man  is  so  thor- 
oughly exhibited  in  all  his  prose  and  in  all  his 
verse.  The  book,  however,  maintains  the  general 
rule  of  candor.  So  does  the  sketch  of  his  early  life, 
written  by  William  Gifford,  the  editor  of  the  "  London 
Quarterly  Eeview," — an  affecting  narrative  of  youth- 
ful difficulties  and  of  a  childhood  clouded  by  the 
most  abject  poverty.  This  truculent  critic,  who  has 
(most  unjustly)  the  bad  reputation  of  killing  poor 
John  Keats,  writes  of  himself,  as  most  men  do,  with 
a  considerable  grace.  One  thing  may  be  said  to  his 
honor.  He  was  often  taunted  with  his  apprentice- 
ship to  a  cobbler  in  boyhood ;  but  he  gives  a  full 
account  of  his  shoemaking,  and  of  how  he  worked 
out  mathematical  and  algebraical  problems  upon 
waste  scraps  of  leather  with  his  awl.  It  was  labor 
lost,  to  quote  against  him  the  hackneyed,  Ne  sutoi" 
ultra  crepidam. 

But  of  all  candid  autobiographers,  commend  me 
to  George  Bubb  Dodington  (Baron  of  Melcombe 
Regis).  The  world  has  had  a  plenty  of  politicians 
who  have  been  patriotic  for  a  price  and  served  their 
country  with  a  single  eye  to  self-interest,  but  not 
many  of  them  have  kept  a  diary  of  their  own  degra- 


INTRODUCTION.  5 

dation  and  left  it  for  publication.  Dodington's 
political  career  was  one  of  perpetual  "  ratting."  The 
curiosity  of  the  matter  is,  not  that  he  was  vain,  self- 
ish, and  avaricious,  but  that  he  does  not  seem  to 
understand  that  such  qualities  of  character  are  other 
than  creditable.  He  was  first  in  the  service  of 
George  II.  He  deserted  his  old  master  from 
motives  which,  however  mercenary,  he  is  not 
ashamed  to  detail,  accepting  the  protection  of  Fred- 
erick, Prince  of  Wales.  It  is  pleasant  to  know  that 
in  that  minor  court  he  was  neglected,  discontented, 
and  miserable.  When  Prince  Frederick  died,  he 
went  over  to  the  Pelhams,  and  turned  his  broad 
back  upon  his  constant  friend  and  patroness,  the 
princess  dowager.  I  do  not  believe  that  there  is  a 
more  shameless  book  than  his  diary  in  any  language, 
dead  or  living.  The  MS.  was  bequeathed  to  his 
cousin,  Thomas  Wyndham,  who  was  ashamed  to 
print  it,  and  left  it  to  Henry  Penruddocke  Wynd- 
ham, who  had  no  such  scruples.  He  put  forth 
this  record  of  servility  and  utter  selfishness,  but 
through  the  whole  preface  he  sneered  at  the  writer 
of  it,  and  he  placed  upon  the  ffitle-page  the  quota- 
tion from  Rabelais,  "  Et  tout  pour  la  trippe,"  which 
he  translated  "  And  all  for  quarter-day  ! "  The  book 
is  curious,  but  it  is  not  a  pleasant  one  to  read,  —  not 
quite  so  agreeable,  I  think,  as  the  Newgate  Calen- 
dar, that  rich  repertory  of  Last  Dying  Speeches 
and  Confessions,  for  these,  in  comparison,  give  one 
rather  an  elevated  idea  of  human  nature. 


6  INTRODUCTION. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  undertake  anything  like 
a  general  review  of  autobiography,  though  the  pref- 
aces of  worthless  books  are  often  amusing  and 
profitable  to  read,  as  I  hope  this  may  be.  Cumber- 
land, the  Sir  Fretful  Plagiary  of  Sheridan's  "  Critic," 
has  left  a  most  diverting  account  of  the  production 
of  plays  which  are  now,  for  the  most  part,  forgotten, 
and  of  a  life  which  was  of  no  particular  value  to 
the  world;  nor  can  I  help  thinking  here  of  what 
Charles  Lamb  said  of  Bishop  Burnet's  History, — 
"quite  the  prattle  of  outlived  importance."  The 
same  thing  might  be  said  of  the  following  pages  if 
the  writer  had  ever  been  of  any  importance  at  all. 
If  an  apology  for  this  book  be  necessary,  the  remi- 
niscent may  be  permitted  to  plead  that  he  was  first 
persuaded,  much  against  his  own  inclination,  into 
writing  the  original  for  THE  TRIBUNE  newspaper, 
and  that  he  is  now,  in  a  manner,  betrayed  into  its 
publication  in  the  present  form,  through  the  too 
good-natured  suggestions  of  his  publisher.  Politi- 
cally, the  period  which  it  covers  has  been  one  of 
great  interest  and  importance,  and  it  has  been  neces- 
sary for  the  writer  constantly  to  watch  public  affairs 
and  public  men.  He  has  also  witnessed  many  social 
changes,  most  of  them,  as  he  is  glad  to  believe,  for 
the  better.  During  the  half-century  which  these 
chapters  cover,  there  has  been  a  wonderful  progress, 
both  moral  and  material.  Surely,  it  is  something  to 
have  lived  in  such  historic  times,  and  to  have  been 
brought  into  intimate  relation  with  many  of  the 


INTRODUCTION.  7 

most  important  of  their  vicissitudes.  The  journalist 
is  compelled  to  vigilance,  and  to  a  constant  estimate 
of  men  and  measures.  So  far  as  the  reminiscent  is 
concerned,  the  drama  is  nearly  over  now ;  and  if  it 
were  not,  he  has  lost  something  of  his  interest  in 
it.  One  who  has  discussed  such  mortal  and  momen- 
tous issues  does  not  take  kindly  to  the  squabbles 
of  politicians,  nor  care  much  for  the  distribution  of 
the  spolia  opima,  or  even  for  the  minor  booty  of  a 
President's  election.  He  only  begs  that  the  reader 
will  civilly  regard  this  little  book  as  he  would  the 
chat  of  a  talkative  old  gentleman,  sitting  in  slip- 
pered ease  by  the  fireside,  and  insisting  upon  hav- 
ing rather  more  than  his  share  of  the  conversation. 
There  is,  indeed,  a  difference :  nobody  is  compelled 
to  read  the  book ;  sometimes,  alas !  those  who  are 
not  in  the  least  entertained  are  obliged  to  listen. 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE    I. 

THE  FIKST  DECADE. 

A  NEWSPAPER  OFFICE  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME.  —  A  WHALING 
PORT  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO.  —  THE  COLORED  POPULATION.  — 
STORIES  OF  THE  OLD  QUAKERS. 

OISTE  who  lias  been  all  his  life  familiar  with 
newspapers  will  naturally  have  a  clutter  of 
odds  and  ends,  interesting,  perhaps,  if  not  important, 
in  the  drawers  and  pigeon-holes  of  his  memory. 
Without  being  very  old,  a  journalist  may  have  wit- 
nessed what  amounts  to  a  complete  revolution  in 
the  methods  and  proportions  of  newspaper  manu- 
facture -y.  and  such  has  been  my  own  fortune.  There 
are  not  many  people,  perhaps,  who  can  remember 
what  a  country  newspaper  office  was  fifty  years  ago, 
—  the  old-fashioned,  wooden-frame  presses,  the  small 
fonts  of  type,  the  ink-balls ;  the  traditions  which 
had  come  down  from  the  days  of  Faust ;  the  fixed 
habits,  and  the  odd  names  by  which  things  were 
called ;  the  wandering  journeymen,  usually  given 
to  occasional  inebriety ;  the  apprentices,  from  the 
oldest,  almost  "  out  of  his  time,"  to  "  the  devil,"  just 

1 


10         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

entering  upon  his  time,  and  not  finding  it  a  charm- 
ing one.  I  was  almost  born  in  such  an  office,  if  I 
may  say  so ;  a  considerable  proportion  of  my  infant 
untidiness  was  of  printer's  ink ;  my  small  hands 
were  often  blistered  by  beating  the  forms  with  the 
balls  aforesaid,  while  my  father  worked  off  the 
limited  edition  of  perhaps  four  hundred  copies  of 
our  newspaper,  at  first  on  that  primitive  machine, 
a  Eamage  press,  with  its  two  pulls  and  general 
clumsiness.  We  printed  the  outside  of  our  little 
weekly  on  Friday,  and  the  inside  on  the  eve  of  the 
day  of  publication,  which  was  Tuesday.  When  the 
glue-and-molasses  roller  was  invented,  all  my  seri- 
ous toils  seemed  to  be  over.  It  was  the  first  labor- 
saving  machine  of  which  I  had  any  practical 
knowledge,  and  a  marvel  I  thought  it.  It  came 
from  New  York,  then  as  far  off  to  me  as  Jerusalem, 
and  with  it  came  new  and  shining  fonts  of  type  — 
very  small  fonts  —  from  the  historic  foundry  of  Mr. 
David  Bruce,  still  famed,  under  the  direction  of  my 
friend  Mr.  David  W.  Bruce,  for  the  production  of 
elegant  letter.  With  this  consignment  also  arrived 
the  Specimen  Book,  —  the  first  picture-book  of  im- 
portance which  delighted  my  eyes,  since  grown  a 
little  tired  of  perpetual  illustration.  How  we  chil- 
dren fought  (in  an  amicable  way)  for  the  first  look 
at  it !  I  have  seen  one  at  least  of  the  great  galler- 
ies of  the  world  since,  —  the  grandeurs  of  the  old 
and  the  glories  of  the  modern  masters ;  but  none 
of  these  gave  me  so  much  pleasure  as  Mr.  Bruce's 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  11 

advertising  cuts  and  reproductions  of  Bewick  and 
designs  by  Anderson.  There  was  one  print,  freshly 
remembered  now,  of  an  unhappy  wretch  standing 
upon  the  scaffold  and  just  upon  the  point  of  being 
turned  off,  over  which  I  shed  tears  in  abundance. 
This  was  probably  intended  for  some  broadside  de- 
scription of  an  execution.  Then  there  were  cuts 
for  lotteries,  auction-sales,  advertisements  of  fugi- 
tive slaves,  horse-races,  toy-books,  —  all  charming 
in  those  days  of  limited  pictorial  embellishment. 

This  was,  of  course,  all  small  and  shabby  in  com- 
parison with  that  profuse  employment  of  pictures 
which  has  betrayed  us  into  making  our  eyes  do  the 
work  of  our  brains.  The  best  newspapers  discour- 
age the  use  of  cuts  in  the  advertising  columns,  be- 
cause space  is  valuable,  while  such  display  is  now 
needless  and  unmeaning ;  but  in  magazines  and 
books  of  a  certain  class,  there  are  more  illustrations 
than  ever.  The  eyes  are  pampered  at  the  expense 
of  the  head.  There  are  newspapers  which  seem  to 
be  edited  by  the  wood-engravers  :  I  have  always 
considered  this  to  be  an  ignominious  concession  to 
intellectual  inactivity.  Is  it  not  nobler  for  the 
writer  to  be  able  by  the  proper  use  of  words  to 
suggest  all  that  is  picturesque  in  a  situation  or  cir- 
cumstance or  character  ?  Is  it  not  more  creditable 
for  the  reader  to  bring  to  perusal  those  faculties  of 
his  mind,  through  the  vigorous  exercise  of  which 
he  can  make  a  picture  for  himself?  The  cuts  in 
the  primer  are  a  concession  to  childish  weakness  of 


12         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

conception;  but  why  should  not  men  and  women 
catch  the  landscape  as  the  writer's  pen  depicts  it, 
without  being  perpetually  reminded  that  here  was 
a  tree,  there  a  river,  and  upon  the  other  side  a 
castle,  through  precisely  the  same  device  which 
unmistakably  assures  the  school-boy  that  "A  was 
an  Archer  and  shot  at  a  frog"  ?  There  may  be  a 
superabundance  of  illustration  sufficient  to  drive  us 
mad.  Did  anybody  ever  take  any  real  comfort  in 
that  waste  of  industry  which  extends  one  volume 
to  six,  and  makes  folios  out  of  original  octavos  ? 
The  reader  will  please  pardon  this  critical  episode. 
I  do  not  object  to  binding  in,  here  and  there,  a  print 
when  the  book  is  worth  it ;  but  the  Lord  deliver  me 
from  having  anything  to  do  with  the  puerile  amuse- 
ment of  inlaying,  and  from  being  the  owner  of  one 
of  those  monuments  of  mistaken  assiduity  which 
one  sometimes  encounters  at  the  book-auctions,  and 
wrhich  stimulate  a  certain  class  of  bidders  to  frenzy  ! 
When  the  newspaper  was  printed  I  carried  it  to 
the  subscribers'  houses  "  all  in  the  morning  early." 
There  was  another  carrier  at  the  other  end  of  the 
village,  but  my  share  of  the  work  amounted  to  about 
one  hundred  and  fifty  deliveries.  The  task  was 
easy  enough  in  the  cool  summer  mornings,  and  I 
strolled  along  pleasantly,  thinking  of  the  book  which 
I  had  read  the  night  before,  or  of  the  other  book 
Which  I  intended  to  read  in  the  evening.  The  very 
first  verses  which  I  wrote  — "  Ode  to  Commerce," 
"  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Chattel-ton,"  "  The  Seasons  : 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  13 

in  Four  Parts"  —  were  meditated  during  my  pe- 
destrian labors.  I  fear  that  these  poetical  reveries 
were  not  favorable  to  prompt  delivery.  At  any 
rate,  I  remember  that  there  was  a  retired  sea-cap- 
tain, of  a  truculent  disposition,  who  was  the  terror 
of  my  life,  and  an  embodied  retribution  whenever  I 
was  tardy.  He  would  rush  out,  with  an  inflamed 
countenance,  and  denounce  me  from  his  door-steps, 
always  charging  me  with  having  missed  his  news- 
paper the  previous  week  —  this  was  usually  an  im- 
agination of  his  own  —  and  always  stigmatizing 
me  as  a  lazy  lubber.  Considering  that  I  was  about 
two  feet  high,  of  a  timid  diathesis,  and  not  in  the 
least  like  a  tar  in  the  forecastle,  I  always  thought 
his  rage  to  be  not  only  inhuman  but  undignified. 
I  once  made  an  effort  to  conciliate  him  by  asking 
him  in  confidence  the  exact  length  of  a  whale. 
Instead  of  giving  me  the  precise  figures,  which  I 
desired,  on  account  of  a  marine  romance  which 
I  was  then  engaged  in  writing,  he  became  apoplectic 
at  my  audacity,  and  bolted  into  the  house  without 
uttering  a  word.  I  heard  of  him  afterward  in  some 
mixed  nautical  company  speaking  of  me  as  a  fool, 
prefixing  a  word  beginning  and  ending  with  "  d  " ; 
and  I  must  say  that  I  then  thought  and  now  think  his 
conduct  very  mysterious  and  enigmatical.  "  Thee  's 
a  small  boy  to  carry  newspapers,"  said  an  old  Quaker 
lady,  gentle  and  soft- voiced,  to  me  one  bitter  winter 
morning,  and  she  took  me  in  and  comforted  me 
with  hot  coffee ;  and  very  much  I  preferred  her 


14         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

treatment  to  his.  I  recall  a  comparison  which  I 
instituted  between  Captain  Cook  and  this  ferocious 
ex-captain,  highly  to  the  disadvantage  of  the  latter. 
I  also  thought  of  what  Benjamin  Franklin  would 
have  said  to  him  under  such  circumstances,  and 
framed  a  speech  in  the  manner  of  the  Doctor,  which 
I  never  had  the  courage  to  deliver.  It  was  scath- 
ing ;  but,  unlike  the  undelivered  speeches  of  some 
members  of  Congress,  it  was  not  printed,  and  is 
now  lost  to  the  world  forever. 

I  have  dwelt  a  little  upon  my  sea-captain,  because 
my  memory  is  full,  as  I  write,  of  the  bluff  whaling- 
skippers,  who  were  a  large  and  extremely  respect- 
able part  of  our  population.  We  were,  in  fact, 
nothing  if  not  maritime,  in  New  Bedford.  One  of 
my  first  escapades,  just  after  I  had  achieved  the 
art  of  walking,  was  to  abscond  to  the  river,  into 
which  I  might  have  tumbled  from  the  wharf,  if  I 
had  not  been  discovered  and  led  ignominiously  back. 
Other  travellers  have  made  more  elaborate  reports  : 
mine  was  simply,  as  afterward  related  to  me,  "  Sight 
o'  drink ! "  We  were  a  town  of  tars.  At  certain 
seasons  tarpaulin  hats,  checked  shirts,  and  ducks 
were  the  prevailing  costume  in  the  streets.  Most 
of  our  public  houses  were  for  the  sailors,  and  I 
can  remember  when  the  most  respectable  of  these 
kept  bars  at  which  Jack  might  alleviate  his  thirst ; 
this  was  apparently  great,  so  long  as  his  money 
lasted,  and  afterward,  when  he  sometimes  drank  up 
in  advance  the  earnings  of  his  next  voyage.  The 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  15 

result  was  a  good  deal  of  fighting  and  disorder.  I 
heard  the  Eiot  Act  read  by  a  man  on  horseback 
and  once  or  twice  it  was  found  necessary  to  call  out 
our  militia  company.  Nobody  was  killed,  though 
we  had  several  houses,  of  no  doubtful  character, 
pulled  down  or  burned.  The  whale-ships  recruiting 
at  the  Sandwich  or  Society  Islands  brought  back, 
besides  oil  and  bone,  not  a  few  tattooed  natives, 
with  the  sound  of  \vhose  astonishing  language  I  was 
familiar,  though  I  did  not  understand  a  word  of  it. 
These  Kanakas,  as  they  were  called,  were  harmless, 
simple,  fond  of  rum,  and,  I  suspect,  often  swindled 
out  of  the  little  money  which  their  voyages  brought 
them.  Ships,  indeed,  came  to  us  from  all  parts  of 
the  world.  We  had  often  walking  about  swarthy 
Portuguese  sailors,  and  mariners  of  the  true  broad- 
bottomed  Dutch  type,  puffing  their  long  pipes  mildly. 
I  knew  by  sight,  almost  as.  soon  as  I  knew  any- 
thing, the  flag  of  every  important  sea-going  Eu- 
ropean nation, — the  Union  Jack  of  England,  the 
different  tricolors  of  France,  of  Germany,  and  of 
Russia,  the  yellow  signal  of  Spain.  All  these  nations 
wanted  oil  and  candles,  and  came  to  New  Bedford 
in  pursuit  of  those  commodities.  Sometimes,  when 
the  wharves  were  full  of  ships,  our  streets — there 
were  only  two*'  or  three  of  much  consequence  —  were 
really  brilliant  and  bustling.  Naturally,  there  was 
no  news  for  us  which  could  compare  in  value  with 
ship  news.  Some  of  the  whaling  voyages  were 
comparatively  short,  —  just  a  run  down  to  "the 


16         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

Banks"  (of  Brazil),  and  so  back  again;  but  they 
grew  longer  and  longer,  as  whales  became  shy  and 
scarce,  until  they  reached  a  period  of  three  years  or 
more.  We  had  hardly  a  home  which  was  not  inter- 
ested in  their  successful  termination, —  there  were 
so  many  fathers  and  sons  and  husbands  and  broth- 
ers and  sweethearts  away  on  these  long  campaigns 
against  the  leviathans.  Most  of  the  intelligence 
was  brought  by  returning  ships,  while  the  outgoers 
carried,  each  of  them,  perhaps  half  a  bushel  of  let- 
ters, upon  the  mere  chance  of  being  able  to  deliver 
them.  There  came  glad  news  and  sad  news  from 
the  seafarers,  —  reports  of  death,  of  wreck,  of  ill- 
fortune  and  small  catches,  of  good  luck  and  great 
takes.  Somehow,  the"  business  was  regarded  as  a 
sort  of  lottery,  with  large  prizes  and  with  mournful 
blanks.  "  A  broken  voyage  "  was  the  local  phrase 
to  express  failure.  Some  captains  and  some  ships 
were  lucky  ;  others  got  a  bad  name,  and  never  did 
anything  afterward,  so  that  the  men  would  not  sail 
with  such  masters  or  in  such  vessels,  and  the  owners 
were  glad  to  get  rid  of  both. 

The  voyages  were  made  upon  shares,  and  this 
system  led  to  many  small  enterprises  in  fitting  out 
ships.  The  property  was  divided  into  quarters, 
eighths,  sixteenths,  and  thirty-seconds;  and  thus 
people  of  small  means  were  able  to  invest  in  a 
speculation  which  might  prove  largely  profitable. 
We  had  quite  a  number  of  persons  of  color  in  the 
town,  some  of  them  fugitive  slaves.  They  were 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  17 

thrifty,  industrious,  and,  as  a  rule,  well-behaved, 
and  a  few  of  them  acquired  fair  fortunes.  The 
town  was  antislavery  from  the  start,  being  full  of 
Quakers,  —  it  was  founded,  in  fact,  by  one  of  that 
denomination,  —  and  the  people  were  all  Abolition- 
ists before  William  Lloyd  Garrison  began  his  won- 
derful work.  We  had  a  cook  in  our  family  who 
was  a  runaway,  and  who  kept  a  long  and  exceed- 
ingly sharp  knife  always  at  hand.  This  she  showed 
me  in  strict  confidence,  to  my  great  terror,  and  in- 
formed me  that  it  was  intended  for  the  reception 
of  her  old  master  if  he  should  ever  come  after  her. 
As  she  was  afterward  tried  for  the  murder  of  her 
baby,  though  she  was  acquitted,  undoubtedly  she 
would  have  made  it  unpleasant  for  a  deputy-marshal 
with  a  warrant  for  rendition.  I  think  it  was  she 
who,  being  of  a  warm  religious  turn,  told  me  that 
"hell  was  hot  and  would  burn  me,"  —  a  doctrine 
which,  being  then  a  fierce  little  Unitarian,  I  pro- 
ceeded to  confute  a  priori  and  in  various  other 
logical  ways. 

We  had  negroes  in  almost  every  branch  of  busi- 
ness. Before  my  time  there  had  been  a  Captain 
Paul  Cuffe,  a  black  man,  who  commanded  a  hand- 
some ship  with  a  white  owner  and  a  white  crew. 
I  believe  that  Captain  Cuffe  rose  to  the  dignity  of 
having  his  biography  printed,  some  years  afterward, 
as  an  antislavery  document.  The  colored  people 
on  one  occasion  had  put  their  money  together  and 
purchased  a  whaling  brig,  which  bore  the  patriotic 

2 


18         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

name  of  "The  Eising  States."  It  was  manned 
mainly  by  blacks,  who  piously  held  a  prayer-meet- 
ing before  sailing,  at  which  was  put  up  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  petitions  ever  offered  at  the 
Throne.  Without  intending  the  least  irreverence, 
I  may  venture  to  give  it  as  follows :  "  0  Lord,  look 
down  upon  dis  brig,  de  Eising  States,  a-fitted  out 
by  the  enterprise  ob  our  cullud  brederen.  Par- 
ticularly, 0  Lord,  we  pray  de  to  look  down  upon 
de  second  mate,  —  him  as  is  seated  next  to  us, 
Lord,  in  de  check  shirt  and  de  duck  pantaloons." 
This  is  the  prayer  as  I  heard  it  repeated;  and  I 
am  sure  it  did  no  discredit  to  the  simple-minded 
and  devout  Christian  who  uttered  it.  Whether 
Heaven  looked  down  upon  the  brig  or  not,  she 
made  "a  broken  voyage,"  and  the  speculation,  I 
am  sorry  to  say,  came  to  grief,  as  the  small  specu- 
lations were  apt  to  do. 

I  have  mentioned  that  we  had  a  great  many 
Quakers  in  our  town.  I  shall  always  esteem  it  a 
privilege  that  I  knew  something  of  Quakerism 
while  it  yet  retained  much  of  its  primitive  quaint- 
ness  and  simplicity,  and  before  it  began  to  make 
those  concessions  to  the  world's  opinions  which 
diminish  the  marked  distinctiveness  of  the  sect, 
whether  fortunately  or  otherwise.  Fifty  years  ago 
Quakers  had  a  good  deal  of  the  positive  spirit 
which  sent  the  proto-Friends  to  long  imprisonment 
in  England  and  to  the  scaffold  in  Boston.  I  re- 
member seeing  a  Quaker  with  his  hat  on  in  one 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  19 

of  our  court-rooms.  The  sheriff,  a  man  of  great 
tendency  to  apoplexy,  ordered  him  to  take  it  off, 
and  was  answered  by  an  indomitable  look,  such  as 
George  Fox  might  have  cast  upon  the  chief  justice 
of  England.  The  command  was  repeated  by  the 
sheriff  in  his  noblest  -official  manner.  The  Friend 
remained  covered.  I  thought  that  the  officer  would 
then  and  there  have  died  in  his  box.  What  might 
have  come  of  it  I  do  not  know ;  but  the  man  in  the 
broadbrim,  having  no  further  occasion  to  remain, 
solved  the  problem,  and  relieved  the  insulted  maj- 
esty of  the  county  by  walking  out,  which  he  did 
after  a  somewhat  victorious  fashion,  as  if  something 
of  the  natural  creature  still  held  possession  of  the 
territory  under  his  drab  coat.  No  Quaker  nowa- 
days, I  fancy,  would  insist  upon  the  punctilio ;  but 
it  would  be  just  a  little  refreshing  to  find  a  Friend 
willing  to  do  so. 

One  or  two  stories  not  malapropos  of  the  last,  and 
I  may  bring  this  instalment  of  my  reminiscences  to 
a  conclusion.  Everybody  knows  what  was  the  hos- 
pitality of  Friends  in  the  olden  time.  As  a  matter 
of  principle,  they  seldom  went  to  public  houses,  for 
George  Fox  long  before  had  proclaimed  his  testi- 
mony against  doing  so.  They  naturally  entertained 
each  other;  and  anybody  who  has  eaten  an  old-fash- 
ioned quarterly  meeting  dinner,  my  word  for  it,  has 
a  pleasant  memory  thereof.  We  had  a  rich  old 
Quaker  merchant  in  our  town,  liberal  as  the  air, 
and  unspeakably  hospitable,  but  sometimes  also 


20         REMimSCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

unspeakably  tried  by  bores.  There  was  a  shrewd 
Friend  who  again  and  again  went  to  the  house 
about  dinner-time  to  fish  for  an  invitation.  He 
had  no  notion  of  buying  oil,  but,  with  an  air  of 
business,  he  would  ask,  "  Friend  B,.,  could  thee  tell 
me  what  I  could  buy  sperm  oil  for  now,  by  the  ten 
gallons  or  the  twenty  gallons  ? "  One  day,  patience 
being  exhausted,  he  got  his  answer :  "  John,  see  to 
it  that  thee  never  comes  to  my  house  again  to  in- 
.  quire  the  price  of  sperm  oil,  —  about  dinner-time  !  " 
And  I  suppose  that  John  did  n't. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  a  pretty  little  book 
might  be  written  about  these  old  Quakers  by  any 
one  acquainted  with  their  peculiar  and  charming 
literature,  and  generally  familiar  with  their  odd 
phraseology  and  quaint  ways.  What  could  be 
droller  than  the  report  made  by  a  committee  that 
the  monthly  meeting  in  a  neighboring  town  "  was 
rather  on  the  dwindle "  ?  Then  their  pertinacity 
about  matters  of  small  importance  seems  almost 
incredible.  My  great-grandfather  must  have  been 
a  Friend  of  extremely  solid  convictions  ;  for  having 
once  borrowed  an  overcoat  of  a  "  worldly  "  acquaint- 
ance in  which  to  attend  some  yearly,  quarterly, 
monthly,  weekly  First  Day  or  preparative  meeting, 
he  did  not  feel  free  to  \vear  it  with  buttons  on  the 
back,  where  they  were  merely  ornamental.  He, 
therefore,  being  moved  by  the  Spirit  to  do  so,  cut 
them  off,  and  so  went,  with  his  mind  at  ease,  to 
the  gathering.  Afterwards  he  found  himself  in  a 


THE  FIRST  DECADE.  21 

curious  dilemma.  He  could  not  conscientiously 
put  the  buttons  on  again,  and  he  hardly  liked  to 
return  the  garment  without  them.  How  he  settled 
the  matter  I  do  not  know ;  probably  he  referred  it 
to  "  the  meeting."  I  have  spoken  of  the  Quakers' 
quaint  phraseology.  There  is  a  plenty  of  this  in  the 
diaries  of  their  preachers ;  and  one  of  them,  which 
I  used  to  read  to  an  old  aunt,  almost  as  soon  as  I 
could  read  at  all,  had  two  standing  formulas.  When 
the  diarist,  who  was  a  wandering  preacher,  had 
been  favored  of  the  Spirit,  he  always  wrote  in  his 
journal  that  he  "  had  enjoyed  an  open  time  " ;  oth- 
erwise, he  put  upon  record  forever  that  he  had 
suffered  from  "  a  shut-up  time,"  and  was  very  dole- 
ful about  it.  When  the  schisms  came,  the  aston- 
ishing style  in  which  these  earnest  folk  wrangled 
and  disputed  and  let  their  angry  passions  rise  was 
really  a  little  scandalous  in  a  people  of  professed 
peace  principles.  Those  who  want  to  know  about 
this  should  read  the  "  Life  of  Elias  Hicks  "  or  the 
"Diary  of  Thomas  Shillitoe."  The  latter  was  a 
small  English  Friend,  of  whom  Elizabeth  Fry  said 
that  he  was  "  by  calling  a  shoemaker,  but  grace  had 
made  him  a  perfect  gentleman."  When  he  came  to 
our  town  he  was  entertained  by  a  wealthy  Friend, 
in  whose  fine  carriage  he  refused  to  ride  to  a  meet- 
ing at  a  village  six  or  seven  miles  distant.  "  I  shall 
be  there  as  soon  as  thee,  George,"  he  said ;  and  off 
he  started  at  a  pace  which  would  have  done  him 
great  credit  in  a  walking  match,  if  I  may  suggest 
such  a  thing  without  irreverence. 


22         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  FIKST  DECADE   CONCLUDED. 

ADVERTISING  IN  THE  OLD  DAY. — AMUSEMENTS.  —  POLITICAL 
CONTROVERSIES.  —  DEMOCRATS  AND  FEDERALISTS.  —  THE 
ELECTION  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  —  JOHN  ADAMS  AND 
FRANKLIN. — THE  ANTI-MASONIC  EXCITEMENT. — WILLIAM 
CULLEN  BRYANT.  —  EARLY  READING.  —  RALPH  WALDO 
EMERSON. 

"T'TT'HEN'  I  came  to  look  over  a  file  of  my  father's 
VV  newspaper  the  other  day,  for  the  sake  of 
refreshing  my  memory,  I  was  more  surprised  to  find 
how  little  there  was  in  it  than  to  discover  how  little 
it  was  in  itself.  In  that  time  of  small  things  sub- 
scribers must  have  been  easily  satisfied :  purchasers 
there  were  none.  The  news  from  Europe,  when 
there  was  any,  was  usually  about  six  weeks  old,  or 
even  older.  Of  editorial  comment  upon  men  and 
things,  there  was  a  plentiful  lack.  There  were  very 
few  communications  fortunately,  for  most  of  them 
were  far  from  interesting.  The  advertising  amounted 
to  nearly  nothing  at  all.  There  was  a  column  de- 
voted to  some  patent  medicine  —  the  Catholicon,  I 
think  it  was  called  —  with  a  fierce-looking  cut  of 
Hercules  making  matters  disagreeable  for  the  Hydra, 
which  went  in  week  after  week  for  several  years  — 
indeed,  I  suspect,  long  after  wretched  experimenters 


THE  FIRST  DECADE   CONCLUDED.  23 

had  ceased  to  swallow  the  fluid  abomination.  I 
never  could  find  out  that  we  got  anything  for  the 
insertion  of  this  announcement,  and  I  was  so  angry 
at  what  I  regarded  as  a  double  swindle  that  I  con- 
ceived a  prejudice  against  patent  medicines  which 
has  lasted  me  to  this  day,  and  is  still  as  vigorous  as 
ever.  The  stuff  was  kept  for  sale  by  an  old  Quaker 
apothecary,  who  drew  teeth  for  six  cents  each,  and 
in  the  case  of  juvenile  extractions  always  gave  the 
money  back  to  soothe  the  weeping  child.  Our 
printing  office  had  few  excitements,  and  these  few 
were  far  between.  One  summer  day  we  were  all 
floored  by  a  stroke  of  lightning;  but  this,  out  of 
respect  for  the  memory  of  Franklin,  we  considered 
to  be  rather  a  privilege  than  otherwise.  Another 
day,  a  Federalist  pulled  the  nose  of  a  Democrat 
opposite  our  office,  and  the  excitement  for  a  time 
was  tremendous ;  but  things  settled  down  into  the 
old,  dead  calm  speedily.  The  tedium  of  the  sleepy 
town  was  occasionally  broken  by  the  arrival  of  a 
menagerie  or  a  circus.  Ah!  never  shall  I  forget 
how  eagerly  I  anticipated  the  advent  of  one  exhibi- 
tion which  we  were  fairly  warned  would  consist 
only  of  the  American  eagle,  in  a  living  state,  and 
captured  I  do  not  remember  where.  I  had  never 
seen  the  proud  Bird  of  Freedom  except  upon  flags 
or  documents,  with  a  bunch  of  arrows  in  one  claw, 
an  olive-branch  in  the  other,  and  a  scroll  with  the 
legend,  "E  pluribus,  etc."  That  was  the  kind  of 
eagle  which  I  expected  to  see,  and  cheerfully  paid 


24         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

six  and  one-quarter  cents  to  see,  and  did  not  see  by 
any  manner  of  means;  for,  passing  the  box-office 
which  was  all  out  of  doors,  into  the  pavilion  which 
was  a  stable,  in  one  corner  and  in  a  dirty  cage  I 
saw,  not  the  "  fierce  gray  bird  "  with  a  shield  sus- 
pended from  his  neck,  but  something  drooping  and 
disagreeable,  moulting  and  miserable,  and  looking 
exceedingly  like  a  convalescent  hen.  It  was  a 
dreadful  disillusion.  If  he  could  only  have  spread 
himself  a  little,  it  would  have  been  some  consola- 
tion, but  he  could  n't ;  the  child  of  the  air  had  n't 
space  to  do  it  in. 

The  heat  of  them  was,  before  my  time,  a  little 
abated,  but  there  was  a  plenty  of  stories  of  savage 
political  controversies.  The  embargo  had  almost 
ruined  the  business  of  the  town.  The  British  fleet 
came  and  destroyed  whatever  the  embargo  had  left. 
Jefferson's  French  proclivities,  real  and  supposed, 
gave  us  catchwords  and  nicknames  which  lasted 
long  after  the  master  of  Monticello  was  at  rest. 

O 

The  little  town  opposite  ours  was  full  of  Democrats, 
and  it  was  called  Corsica  after  Bonaparte's  birth- 
place, and  may  be  called  so  still  sometimes.  I  well 
remember  several  Jefifersonians  and  Madisouians  who 
were  dubbed  Citizen  this  or  Citizen  that,  and  who 
were  charged  with  holding  Danton  and  Robespierre 
in  the  most  affectionate  esteem.  The  pulpit  rung 
with  political  preaching,  bad  in  style,  worse  in  tem- 
per, and  anything  but  pacific  in  its  influences.  My 
grandfather,  who  was  a  regular  blue-light  Federalist, 


THE  FIRST  DECADE   CONCLUDED.  25 

saw  his  party  grow  small,  and  the  other  party  larger, 
with  feelings  of  wrath  which  he  did  not  make  the 
slightest  effort,  being  a  peppery  old  gentleman,  to 
disguise.  One  day  at  town  meeting  he  was  taunted 
with  the  growth  of  his  natural  enemies  in  number, 
something  after  this  fashion :  "  Well,  Captain  C., 
there  was  a  time  when  there  were  only  two  or  three 
Democrats  in  town ;  but  there  is  a  plenty  of  them 
here  now."  My  revered  ancestor  was  equal  to  the 
occasion.  "  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  and  there  was  a 
time  when  there  was  only  one  devil  in  the  infernal 
regions  ;  but  there  is  a  plenty  of  them  there  now." 
This  was  considered  rather  a  neat  retort,  and  came 
down  to  us  traditionally  as  evidence  of  the  family 
presence  of  mind  on  important  occasions. 

Apropos  of  politics,  I  am  sometimes  inclined  to 
believe  that  the  zeal  and  earnest  interest  in  them  of 
the  American  citizen  has  not  a  little  abated.  Our 
contests  do  not  seem  to  me  passionately  bitter,  as 
the  old  ones  were ;  and  I  think  that  the  number  of 
the  indifferent  is,  at  least,  not  growing  smaller.  We 
had  but  a  melancholy  evening  of  it  when  the  news 
came  that  General  Jackson  had  been  elected  to  the 
presidency,  and  that  John  Quincy  Adams  was  de- 
feated. My  impression  is  that  I  cried,  having  arrived 
at  the  mature  age  of  eight  years,  and  understanding 
such  things  much  better  then  than  I  have  since,  or, 
for  that  matter,  do  now.  I  had  a  strong  belief  not 
only  that  the  republic  would  go  to  ruin,  but  that 
general  ignorance  would  prevail,  that  no  new  books 


26         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

would  be  printed,  that  public  schools  would  be  abol- 
ished, that  universal  poverty  would  ensue,  and  that 
the  whaling  business  especially  would  come  to  an 
end.  Why  should  I  not  have  been  thus  melancholy 
when  my  elders  and  betters  made  perfect  hypochon- 
driacs of  themselves?  I  doubt  if  any  public  man 
was  ever  more  thoroughly  hated  than  General  Jack- 
son was  then  in  Massachusetts.  We  even  named  a 
cutaneous  complaint  contracted  in  barbers'  shops 
after  that  much  admired  and  much  abused  hero. 
Then  there  was  a  particularly  disagreeable  square- 
toed  boot  which  we  called  the  Jackson.  Mr.  Adams 
paid  us  a  visit  not  long  after,  and,  being  always  in 
search  of  sights,  I  went  down  to  the  pier  to  see  him 
land.  I  thought  him  fearfully  old  and  shaky,  but  he 
lived  long  enough  after  for  me  to  write  his  obituary 
notice  in  my  own  newspaper.  I  was  one  of  a  great 
tail  of  boys  who  followed  the  good  man  to  his  hotel. 
He  had  some  infirmity  of  the  eyes,  and  my  impres- 
sion was  that  he  was  shedding  tears  at  the  enthusi- 
astic character  of  our  attentions.  I  was  introduced 
to  him  ten  years  afterward,  and  it  did  not  appear  to 
me  that  he  was  overwarm  in  his  demeanor.  His 
style  of  handshaking  was  of  the  pump-handle  sort, 
and,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  he  was  not  hotly  affec- 
tionate in  his  greetings ;  but  perhaps  he  had  never 
heard  how  I  fought  his  battles  when  a  boy.  He 
was  fortunate  neither  in  making  friends  nor  in 
keeping  them  :  had  he  been  of  a  more  genial  man- 
ner, he  might  have  been  re-elected  to  the  presi- 


THE  FIRST  DECADE   CONCLUDED.  27 

dency.  But  what  could  be  expected  of  a  man  who 
used  to  cut  a  hole  in  the  ice  that  he  might  take  his 
morning  bath  in  the  gelid  waters  of  the  Potomac  ? 
Of  course  he  had  a  strong  constitution,  and  he  had 
need  of  it.  His  life  was  one  of  continual  disap- 
pointments and  ceaseless  battles.  He  could  not  be 
winning  in  his  ways.  He  would  say  disagreeable 
things  in  company.  Like  his  father,  he  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal  his  dislikes  and  prejudices.  He 
did  not  relish  contradiction,  and  he  was  a  good 
hater.  Once,  as  I  have  heard  the  story  told,  in  con- 
versation a  Southern  gentleman  said,  half-appeal- 
ingly,  "  Your  young  men  in  New  England  are 
better  trained  than  ours ;  they  are  not  surrounded 
by  such  bad  influences :  that,  perhaps,  makes  a  dif- 
ference." Mr.  Adams  answered  at  once,  and  defi- 
antly, and  even  as  if  he  had  been  in  a  passion,  "  I 
was  left  pretty  much  to  myself  when  a  mere  boy  in 
the  most  corrupt  capital  of  Europe ;  but  it  made  no 
difference  to  me."  The  unfortunate  Southerner  had 
nothing  more  to  say.  It  was  very  like  a  snub,  and 
he  felt  it  to  be  so;  while  the  probability  of  his 
voting  for  Mr.  Adams  upon  any  possible  occasion 
was  immeasurably  lessened.  This  Adams  temper 
was  proverbial  all  about  the  region  in  which  the 
family  was  domiciled.  On  the  morning  after  the 
inauguration  of  the  statue  of  Franklin  in  Boston  I 
was  talking  with  Mr.  Charles  Francis  Adams  in  a 
bookstore,  and  I  recall  a  forcible  parallel  which  he 
drew  between  his  grandfather  and  Franklin.  "  My 


28         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

grandfather,"  he  said,  "  never  could  keep  his  temper : 
Franklin  always  kept  his.  The  two  men  never 
could  get  along  together :  my  grandfather  was  all 
fire,  said  imprudent  things  and  lost  his  self-control ; 
Franklin  took  advantage  of  this,  answered  calmly, 
argued  warily,  and  for  this  reason  usually  got  the 
better  of  the  argument."  There  can  be  no  harm  in 
thus  referring  to  the  infirmity  of  a  very  great  man, 
especially  when  it  is  remembered  that  his  vehemence 
of  spirit  was  of  infinite  service  in  revolutionary 
times  to  the  struggling  colonies.  I  have  heard  old 
men  in  Quincy  talk  of  him  by  the  hour.  He  had, 
for  some  reason  or  other,  given  most  of  them  a  scold- 
ing, and  a  scolding  from  John  Adams  must  have 
been  something  of  an  infliction ;  yet  I  never  heard 
any  of  his  neighbors  speak  of  him  without  reverence. 
If  they  laughed  at  his  foibles,  it  was  in  a  respectful 
way.  One  ancient  citizen  expressed  the  opinion 
that  cider,  of  which  the  retired  statesman  was  fond, 
made  him  sometimes  a  little  cross;  but  when  I 
answered  that  he  had  earned  the  right  to  be  cross, 
if  he  pleased,  the  assent  to  my  opinion  was  a  hearty 
one.  I  am  in  perpetual  fear  of  getting  garrulous,  or 
I  might  tell  how  John  Adams's  wife  cared  for  him 
in  his  age,  and  softened  the  asperities  of  his  temper, 
watched  over  him  till  death  called  her  away,  and 
he  was  left  a  lonesome  and  moribund  old  man,  with 
his  passion  for  public  affairs  still  unabated. 

I  caught  in  my  boyhood,  if  I  may  say  so,  the  tail 
end  of  the  Federalist  and  Democratic  storm ;  but  we 


THE  FIRST  DECADE   CONCLUDED.  29 

were  enjoying  something  like  an  era  of  good  feeling 
when  the  anti-Masonic  excitement  arose  to  vex  our 
peace,  and  to  make  those  who  had  been  good  friends 
and  neighbors  hate  each  other  for  a  time  heartily. 
It  all  came  of  that  miserable  Morgan  matter  in  New 
York ;  and  to  this  day  I  .have  never  understood  how 
a  party  could  possibly  be  founded  upon  such  a  trans- 
action. Yet  a  party  there  was,  and  quite  an  impor- 
tant one.  It  put  Mr.  Seward  into  the  State  Senate 
in  1830 ;  it  made  Joseph  Eitner  governor  of  Penn- 
sylvania in  1835 ;  it  secured  the  alliance  of  such 
men  as  John  Quincy  Adams,  William  Wirt,  Francis 
Granger,  Thurlow  Weed,  to  mention  no  others.  It 
carried  the  State  of  Vermont  for  Wirt  and  Ellmaker, 
its  candidates  for  President  and  Vice-President ;  and 
six  years  afterward  there  was  not  enough  of  it  left 
anywhere  to  save  it  from  the  limbo  of  "  scattering." 
I  believe  the  best  opinion  to  be  that  Morgan  was 
murdered  by  certain  very  zealous  Freemasons;  I 
heard  a  peripatetic  lecturer  say  once  that  he  was  in 
a  lodge  in  New  York  City  when  the  fact  of  the  mur- 
der was  officially  communicated  to  the  brethren  ;  but 
I  arn  not  sure  that  he  told  the  truth.  He  gave  a 
kind  of  exhibition,  and  went  through  what  he  said 
were  the  ceremonies  of  initiation  ;  and  though  I  was 
fiercely  prejudiced  against  the  order,  they  struck  my 
boyish  fancy  as  somewhat  imposing.  My  grand- 
father, who  was  a  Master  Mason,  seceded,  and  made 
me  a  present  of  his  apron,  a  pretty  one,  which  I  kept 
for  a  long  time  as  a  trophy.  The  Masons  themselves 


30          REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

were  in  rather  a  helpless  condition.  They  could  not 
nominate  for  office  Masons  as  such,  for  that  would 
have  been  a  surrender  of  the  very  point  upon  which 
they  always  insisted,  —  that  they  did  not  carry  their 
Masonry  into  politics.  So  they  voted  as  they  could 
and  for  whom  they  could ;_  with  the  Jackson  men, 
or,  in  our  part  of  the  State,  with  the  National  Ke- 
publicans  ;  and  generally  they  had  rather  a  forlorn 
and  friendless  time  of  it.  They  were  good  citizens 
enough,  with  no  notion  of  murdering  anybody ;  the 
lodge-meetings  had  been  social  and  friendly,  and 
sometimes  convivial  when  the  brethren  "  passed  from 
labor  to  refreshment " ;  and  it  irked  them  naturally 
to  be  spoken  of  as  felons  or  the  apologists  of  felons. 
Our  election  contests  were  about  as  hot  as  any 
which  I  have  since  known.  The  majority  rule  pre- 
vailed, and  we  tried  six  times  in  vain  to  elect  a  mem- 
ber of  Congress  in  our  district,  until  my  soul  was 
sick  with  the  still-recurring  report  of  "  No  choice." 
The  seventh  trial  brought  good  luck  to  the  other  side 
and  bad  to  ours ;  they  elected  their  man  by  a  major- 
ity of  about  a  hundred.  Again  I  mourned  for  the  re- 
public ruined,  as  I  have  so  many  times  since  ;  but  the 
feeling  which  now  possesses  my  mind,  upon  recall- 
ing this  teapot  tempest,  is  one  of  inexpressible  aston- 
ishment that  over  seven  thousand  human  beings,  all 
tolerably  well-furnished  with  brains,  should  have 
gone  so  maliciously  mad  about  nothing.  The  lodge 
soon  afterward  went  industriously  to  work  again,  and 
made  more  Entered  Apprentices  than  ever;  most 


THE  FIRST  DECADE  CONCLUDED.  31 

of  the  Massachusetts  anti-Masons  drifted  into  the 
Democratic  party,  under  the  leadership  of  that 
apostle  of  political  virtue,  Mr.  Benjamin  F.  Hallett ; 
and  so  faded  out,  exhaled,  and  vanished  the  first  po- 
litical party  of  my  love,  leaving  behind  it  nothing 
but  a  quantity  of  musty  old  files  of  newspapers  and 
of  pamphlets,  which  the  most  devoted  of  antiquari- 
ans can  hardly  read  without  yawning. 

I  have  always  esteemed  it  one  of  the  luckiest 
features  of  my  lot  that  from  the  very  beginning  I 
had  all  the  books  which  I  cared  to  read,  and  more ; 
that  I  was  nurtured  upon  good,  solid  literature,  and 
was  permitted  to  devour  whatever  I  pleased  to  de- 
vour, without  any  meddlesome  or  fussy  interference. 
Surely  it  was  something  to  have  been  a  child  before 
the  present  style  of  juvenile  literature  came  into  such 
fashion,  —  before  this  avalanche  of  Peter  Parleyisms. 
I  own  to  a  little  embarrassment  when,  at  the  tender 
age  of  six  or  seven  years,  I  was  detected  reading 
"  The  Friend,"  of  Coleridge,  —  no  doubt  with  a  wise 
expression  of  countenance.  Such  a  thunderous  guf- 
faw did  my  uncle  set  up  at  this  discovery  that  the 
small  metaphysician  was  utterly  confounded,  and 
blushed  as  if  he  had  been  caught  pilfering  blackberry 
jam.  Yet  even  then  I  found  a  pleasure  in  some  of 
Coleridge's  deliciously  musical  sentences,  though 
they  might  have  been  written  in  Arabic  for  all  I 
understood  of  them.  Books  !  Yes,  it  was  something 
to  be  trained  in  a  home  which,  however  poor  in 
meaner  property,  was  always  full  of  books,  either 


32         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

borrowed  from  the  library  or  inherited  from  reading 
ancestors,  or,  may  be,  purchased  in  prosperous  days. 
What  discussions  we  had  of  their  merits,  and  what 
critical  battles  we  fought  for  our  favorites  I  Was  it 
not  an  intellectual  fortune  in  itself  to  escape  the  era 
of  the  Minerva  Press,  and  to  be  born  in  the  year  in 
which  "  Kenil worth  "  and  "  The  Pirate  "  appeared  ? 
Was  it  not  something  to  have  all  these  wholesome 
books  waiting  for  me,  so  that  when,  not  many  years 
after,  Sir  Walter  threw  off  his  incognito  in  1827,  I 
had  read  him  through  and  through  from  "  Waverley" 
to  "  Castle  Dangerous,"  and  knew  that  "  Guy  Man- 
nering  "  and  "  The  Antiquary  "  were  the  best  of  the 
series,  if  not  worth  all  the  rest  put  together  ?  Long 
years  after,  as  I  stood  in  the  house  in  Edinburgh 
in  which  Scott  did  the  hardest  of  his  work,  —  that 
dreadful  toil  which  followed  the  bankruptcy  of  Con- 
stable,—  and  was  shown  the  very  room  in  which 
this  pitiful  construction  of  books  to  pay  the  debts  of 
others  went  on,  I  thought  of  myself  eagerly  devour- 
ing his  tales  of  wonder,  and,  though  a  mere  boy, 
catching  something  of  their  excellence  in  that  far-off 
little  Massachusetts  seaport.  I  thought,  too,  of  that 
fine  story  of  him, — how  his  eyes  were  suffused  with 
tears  when  a  lady,  whose  life  had  not  been  a  happy 
one,  told  him  what  a  consolation  his  romances  had 
been  to  her  in  the  hours  of  sickness  and  anxiety. 

We  greatly  valued  in  our  family  one  connection; 
we  were  as  proud  of  the  fact  that  William  Cullen 
Bryant  was  our  kinsman  as  if  we  had  traced  our 


THE  FIRST  DECADE   COATCLUDED.  33 

lineage  to  the  House  of  Hapsburg.  Dr.  Bryant 
brought  his  precocious  son  down  to  New  Bedford 
to  visit. my  great-grandfather,  not  long  after  "The 
Embargo  "  was  printed,  when  the  little  author  must 
have  been  about  fifteen  years  old.  He  was  consid- 
ered a  wonder,  and  justly  so ;  but  my  grandfather, 
who  was  of  a  positive  turn  of  mind,  like  all  the 
Bryants,  was  sceptical  about  the  authenticity  of  the 
bright  lad's  productions,  and  intimated  that  the  re- 
puted author  must  have  had  large  assistance.  As 
no  Bryant  was  ever  known  to  give  up  an  opinion, 
having  once  adopted  it,  I  suspect  that  my  grand- 
father held  to  his ;  though  if  he  had  lived  only  a 
little  longer  he  would  have  comprehended  that  the 
writer  of  "  Thanatopsis  "  stood  in  little  need  of  help 
from  anybody. 

I  do  not  know  that  a  boy  could  be  brought  up  on 
better  literary  sustenance  than  the  Waverley  nov- 
els and  Bryant's  poems,  both,  from*  their  robust- 
ness and  fine  literary  sense,  wholesome  pabulum 
for  young  readers.  Then,  about  fifty  years  ago,  lyce- 
ums  and  lecturing  came  into  fashion.  We  had  our 
share  of  the  latter  with  an  institution,  mainly 
scientific,  of  our  own.  The  pulpit,  too,  was  quite 
as  earnest  and  perhaps  a  little  more  solid  than 
in  our  day.  It  is  curious  that  I  should  first  have 
heard  the  lovable  voice  of  Ealph  Waldo  Emerson 
when  he  was  the  Eev.  Ealph  Waldo  Emerson.  One 
day  there  came  into  our  pulpit  the  most  gracious 
of  mortals,  with  a  face  all  benignity,  who  gave  out 

3 


34         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

the  first  hymn  and  made  the  first  prayer  as  an  angel 
might  have  read  and  prayed.  Our  choir  was  a 
pretty  good  one,  but  its  best  was  coarse  and  dis- 
cordant after  Emerson's  voice.  I  remember  of  the 
sermon  only  that  it  had  an  indefinite  charm  of  sim- 
plicity, quaintness,  and  wisdom,  with  occasional  il- 
lustrations from  nature,  which  were  about  the  most 
delicate  and  dainty  things  of  the  kind  which  I  had 
ever  heard.  I  could  understand  them,  if  not  the 
fresh  philosophical  novelty  of  the  discourse.  Mr. 
Emerson  preached  for  a  good  many  Sundays,  lodg- 
ing in  the  home  of  a  Quaker  lady,  just  below  ours. 
Seated  at  my  own  door,  I  saw  him  often  go  by, 
and  once,  in  the  exuberance  of  my  childish  ad- 
miration, I  ventured  to  nod  to  him  and  to  say  "  Good 
morning  ! "  To  my  astonishment,  he  also  nodded 
and  smilingly  said  "  Good  morning  ! "  and  that  is  all 
the  conversation  I  ever  had  with  the  sage  of  Con- 
cord, —  not  erfough  decidedly  for  a  reminiscent  vol- 
ume about  him  after  he  has  left  a  world  which  he 
has  made  wiser  and  happier.  He  gave  us  afterward 
two  lectures  based  upon  his  travels  abroad,  and  was 
at  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  hang  up  prints,  by  way 
of  illustration.  There  was  a  picture  of  the  tribune 
in  the  Uffizi  Gallery  in  Florence,  painted  by  one  of 
our  townsmen ;  and  I  noted  Mr.  Emerson's  great 
anxiety  that  it  should  have  a  good  light,  and  his  lam- 
entation when  a  good  light  was  found  to  be  impos- 
sible. The  lectures  themselves  were  so  fine  —  en- 
chanting, we  thought  them  —  that  I  have  hungered 


THE  FIRST  DECADE  CONCLUDED.  35 

to  see  them  in  print,  and  have  recalled  the  evenings 
upon  which  they  were  delivered  as  true  "  Arabian 
nights."  Mr.  Giles,  the  Irish  essayist,  told  me  a 
nice  little  story  of  Emerson,  with  which  this  chap- 
ter may  conclude.  We  had  a  rich  old  merchant, 
who  was  a  tireless  talker,  with  whom  our  lecturer 
sometimes  lodged.  The  good-hearted  gentleman 
caught  Mr.  Giles  one  evening,  and  kept  him,  a 
complacent  but  dreadfully  weary  listener,  morally 
under  arrest,  until  nearly  sunrise ;  then,  as  they 
parted  for  the  night,  or  rather  for  the  morning, 
the  garrulous  and  gratified  monologist  said,  "  I  like 
you,  Mr.  Giles  :  you  are  willing  to  hear  what  I 
have  to  say.  Mr.  Emerson  was  here  the  other 
night,  after  he  had  lectured,  and  he  said  he  did  not 
wish  to  hear  me  talk  —  that  he  had  rather  go  to 
bed."  Not  that  the  kindest  of  men  meant  to  be 
uncivil:  he  merely  spoke  with  the  simplicity  and 
directness  of  a  Greek  philosopher. 


CHAPTEE   III. 
MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS. 

THE  REV.  ORVILLE  DEWEY.  —  A  PULPIT  PLAGIARIST.— THE 
NEGRO  PEW.  — COLOR  PHOBIA  IN  SCHOOL — EPHRAIM  PEA- 
BODY.— JOHN  H.  MORRISON.—  JOHN  WEISS.—  DR.  JOHN  0. 
CHOULES.—  DR.  CHANNING.— A  PREACHER  WHO  COULDN'T 
BE  STOPPED.  —  JOHN  NEWLAND  MAFFIT.— DR.  SAMUEL 
WEST.— JOHN  PIERPONT. 

PERHAPS  it  is  not  always  so  fully  remembered 
as  it  should  be  that  the  pulpit,  apart  from  its 
great  religious  mission,  may  also  be  a  felicitous 
educator  of  the  taste  and  judgment.  It  is  a  great 
deal  to  listen  week  after  week  to  thoughtful,  learned, 
and  eloquent  discourses,  full  of  piety  unprofaned 
by  clumsy  construction  and  platitudinous  common- 
place. Our  plain,  unpretending  wooden  church  was 
my  first  college,  its  pastor  my  first  professor  of 
rhetoric,  and  the  only  one  I  ever  had  who  was 
good  for  anything.  The  first  clergyman  to  whom 
I  really  listened  was  Dr.  Orville  Dewey,  who  for 
ten  years  preached  to  us  sermons  which  I  thought 
as  fine  as  those  of  Massillon  or  Bossuet  or  Jeremy 
Taylor:  to  speak  frankly,  whatever  critical  judg- 
ment I  have  since  acquired  has  not  much  modified 
my  opinion.  I  still  place  some  of  Dr.  Dewey 's  ser- 
mons in  the  front  rank  of  such  literature.  Unfortu- 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.          37 

nately,  few  people  read  printed  sermons  with  much 
relish,  and  the  general  style  of  pulpit  eloquence 
has  undergone  a  marked  change,  not  much  for  the 
better ;  but  if  great  purity  and  force  of  language,  a 
rich  rhetoric  well  kept  in  hand,  sinewy  logical 
power,  vigorous  and  uncompromising  earnestness, 
with  a  gentle  liberality,  —  if  all  these  together  make 
great  sermons,  Dr.  Dewey's  were  great.  The  best 
of  them  are  in  print,  and  the  reader  who  does  not 
care  to  take  my  word  may  judge  for  himself.  The 
Doctor  had  a  way,  of  which  we  did  not  complain, 
of  preaching  his  sermons  over  and  over  again  until 
they  were  perfectly  familiar  to  us,  and  we  knew 
when  the  finest  passages  were  at  hand.  So  when  a 
dapper  little  young  man,  fresh  from  the  Cambridge 
Divinity  School,  ministered  unto  us,  and  treated  us 
to  the  best  parts  of  one  of  them  which  had  been 
published,  astonishment  and  indignation  filled  all 
the  pews.  Those  who,  in  their  righteous  wrath  at 
the  larceny,  refused  to  attend  church  in  the  after- 
noon missed  the  opportunity  of  hearing  the  youth- 
ful apostle  repeat  the  offence.  If  there  had  been 
people  enough  at  our  vespers  for  a  mob,  I  think  we 
should  have  had  one.  Pulpit  plagiarists  are  always 
getting  themselves  into  divers  troubles,  but  I  have 
never  heard  of  a  foolhardier  defiance  of  detection 
than  this. 

We  had  in  our  church  what  I  suppose  is  not  to 
be  found  in  many  churches  at  present,  —  a  pew  for 
black  people,  though  I  never  saw  any  blacks  in  it. 


38         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

Under  the  circumstances  they  declined  very  prop- 
erly to  pray  with  us,  but  set  up  a  tabernacle  for 
themselves  in  the  outskirts  of  the  village,  where 
they  could  make  as  much  noise  as  they  pleased; 
and  sometimes  they  pleased  to  make  a  great  deal. 
As  future  ages  will  probably  decline  to  believe  in 
the  negro  pew  at  all,  except  upon  good  evidence, 
I  hereby  put  it  upon  record.  Once,  in  a  meeting- 
house in  another  town,  I  saw  a  negro  admitted 
to  the  church  in  a  peculiar  way.  All  the  white 
postulants  were  first  received.  Then  the  minister 
said,  to  my  astonishment,  "  John,  come  down  ! "  and 
I  saw  John  descending  from  his  pen,  with  much 
meekness  depicted  upon  his  sable  countenance. 
When  he  had  been  properly  posed  before  the  altar, 
the  minister  said,  "John,  you  have  been  a  great 
liar."  "Yes,  massa."  "And  a  great  thief."  "I 
know  it,  massa."  "And  I  do  not  suppose  that 
there  is  a  person  in  this  congregation  who  thinks 
that  you  will  abide  by  your  professions."  "  Yes,  I 
will,  massa."  So  the  sable  convert  went  back  to 
his  pew  or  pen,  by  no  means  in  a  state  of  spiritual 
exaltation ;  and  everybody  thought  how  charming 
it  was  in  the  minister  to  let  him  come  into  the  fold 
at  all.  But  forty  years  ago  this  colorphobia  was  in 
full  and  fierce  and  most  uncharitable  force.  I  do 
not  know  how  many  towns  had  their  negro  suburb, 
but  I  know  that  we  had  one.  I  went  to  a  public 
school  in  which  the  black  boys  were  seated  by  them- 
selves, and  the  white  offenders  were  punished  by 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.         39 

being  obliged  to  sit  with  them.  Such  a  gross  im- 
morality seems  hardly  credible.  One  is  tempted 
to  burst  into  adjectives  in  writing  of  it,  and  to  set 
it  down  as  coarse  and  cruel,  and  worse.  A  respecta- 
ble negro  of  our  town  had  a  white  wife,  who  was 
made  so  utterly  miserable  by  the  scoffs  and  scorn 
of  her  neighbors  that  she  did  her  best  to  become 
herself  black,  exposing  her  face  constantly  to  the 
sun,  until  she  attained  a  tolerable  color,  and  might 
have  passed  at  least  for  a  mestizo.  Think  of  a 
lyceum,  established  to  promote  popular  knowledge, 
actually  debating  whether  black  people  should  be 
allowed  to  purchase  tickets  for  the  lecture  course ! 
Ours  did  that  once,  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  and  de- 
cided the  question  in  the  negative.  But  enough  of 
this ;  it  is  not  pleasant  to  remember. 

There  was  a  clergyman  in  our  town,  who  got  into 
scrapes  afterward,  and  did  not  live  his  last  years 
in  much  credit.  We  had  a  drunken  ne'er-do-well 
blacksmith  called  George,  famous  for  his  mother- 
wit,  who  was  discovered  by  the  minister  sitting  upon 
the  steps  of  his  church,  very  unwell  from  the  effects 
of  imprudent  potations.  "  Well,  George,  drunk 
again,  eh  ? "  said  the  reverend  man.  "  No,  parson," 
answered  George,  "  I  ain't  drunk.  The  fact  is  (hie) 
that  I  was  thinking  (hie)  of  jining  your  church  ; 
and  the  more  (hie)  I  think  of  it,  the  sicker  I  grow." 
It  was  this  same  minister  who  rebuked  an  old  and 
exceedingly  well-salted  sea-captain  for  his  unre- 
strained use  of  profane  language.  "Never  mind," 


40         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

was  the  answer ;  "  there  is  n't  a  man  in  town  who 
would  n't  rather  hear  me  swear  than  hear  you  pray." 
We  had  a  succession  of  excellent  pastors,  among 
them  the  Eev.  Ephraim  Peabody,  a  sweet  and  saintly 
man,  who  left  us  to  go  to  the  King's  Chapel  in 
Boston,  and  who  died  not  many  years  after.  He 
was  the  clergyman  mentioned  with  such  effusion  by 
Miss  Martineau  in  her  "Eetrospect  of  Western 
Travel."  She  met  him  in  Cincinnati,  and  described 
him  and  his  wife,  and  their  experiences  and  trials 
and  adventures,  with  so  much  particularity  that 
Mrs.  Peabody  said  with  great  archness,  "  Dear  1 
what  babes  in  the  wood  she  makes  of  us ! " 

Colleague  of  Dr.  Peabody  was  the  Eev.  Dr.  John 
H.  Morrison,  a  divine  still  living  and  still  engaged 
in  valuable  religious  labors.  It  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  overestimate  the  importance  of  the  encourage- 
ment which  a  boy  of  literary  aspirations  may  receive 
from  one  older  in  years,  and  with  that  assured 
position  which  gives  the  right  to  advise.  The  kind- 
ness with  which  Dr.  Morrison  treated  me,  the  timely 
suggestions  which  he  offered,  the  generosity  with 
which  he  loaned  me  books,  the  ways  which  he  found 
out  of  intimating  to  the  great  commercial  crowd 
around  me  that  he  did  not  despise  my  juvenile 
aspirations,  I  remember  now,  with  mingled  feelings 
of  pleasure  and  mortification.  He  is  the  man  whose 
pardon  I  should  ask,  if  pardon  is  to  be  asked  of 
anybody,  for  my  failure  to  have  written  a  real  book. 
Perhaps  he  will  smile  to  learn  that  a  hundred  works 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.          41 

have  been  planned,  and  have  tragically  perished  in 
the  mere  proposal.  But  I  know  too  that  he  is  a 
scholar  who  will  comprehend  that  his  own  quiet 
and  secluded  ways  have  not  been  mine ;  that  I 
could  not  make  books  as  he  has ;  that  the  instant 
pressure  of  occupation,  the  necessity  of  winning  from 
day  to  day  daily  bread,  the  impossibility  of  careful 
and  prolonged  study,  which  is  the  first  condition  of 
worthy  work,  —  that  all  these  have  compelled  me  to 
abate  something  of  that  literary  aspiration  which 
his  generous  encouragement  did  so  much  to  kindle. 
How  well  Dr.  Morrison  always  asserted  the  dignity 
of  letters,  I  can  never  forget ;  nor  how  he  asked 
me,  a  poor,  raw  lad,  to  lecture  at  the  lyceum,  of  which 
he  was  a  director.  I  blush  to  remember  that  even 
then  I  was  audacious  enough  to  write  about  Shakes- 
peare ;  and  my  only  consolation  is  that  perhaps  there 
were  not  many  in  the  audience  who  were  capable 
of  detecting  my  sciolisms.  It  was  kinder  of  the 
Doctor  to  ask  me,  because  I  was  then  an  absurd  and 
blatant  radical,  nurtured  in  the  school  of  Orestes  A. 
Brownson,  as  that  divine  Doctor  then  happened  to 
teach  in  it,  and  just  as  far  as  possible  from  that 
serene  and  superior  position  which  Dr.  Morrison's 
wisdom  had  led  him  to  occupy.  He  bore  with  my 
foibles,  he  smiled  at  the  impetuosity  of  youth.  All 
through  these  papers  I  may  be  called  upon  to  ask 
pardon  of  'somebody ;  but  the  apology  which  I  now 
make  is  of  tenderer  issue  and  comes  from  my  inmost 
heart. 


42         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

One  of  our  notable  pastors  was  the  lamented 
John  Weiss  dead  only  a  little  while  ago.  Nobody 
who  heard  him  in  the  full  flush  and  strength  of  his 
youth  can  forget  his  energy  and  power.  He  was 
one  of  the  boldest  preachers  I  have  ever  known. 
He  had  his  own  theory  of  the  proper  topics  for  ser- 
mons, and  one  of  them  he  conceived  to  be  the  ini- 
quity of  slavery.  He  was  neither  a  Boanerges  nor 
a  giant.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  small  man,  with 
a  thin,  sharp  voice;  but  when  his  subject  was  one 
which  thoroughly  warmed  him,  his  stature  was  for- 
gotten, and  his  tones  were  like  those  of  a  battle-cry. 
He  preached  against  the  nomination  of  General 
Taylor  for  the  presidency  to  a  house  full  of  Whigs ; 
and  though  he  once  in  my  hearing  made  rags  and 
tatters  of  the  Compromise  Measures,  only  one  man 
went  out,  and  he  pleaded  illness  for  doing  so.  Mr. 
Weiss's  naturalistic  theology  js  known  to  all ;  he 
was  Christian  in  thought  and  feeling  and  purpose, 
but  not  in  dogma  and  doctrine.  He  was  usually 
classed  with  Parker  and  Frothingham,  and  Samuel 
Johnson  of  Salem,  Mass.,  though  it  is  absurd  to 
attempt  to  group  together  men  who  think  and  speak 
absolutely  and  only  for  themselves.  Mr.  Weiss's 
charming  lectures  on  Shakespeare  were  delivered  in 
New  York,  and  will  be  pleasantly  remembered  by 
those  who  heard  them.  A  good  scholar  and  a  con- 
stant and  enthusiastic  thinker,  he  was  in  his  ways 
and  manners  and  social  speech  almost  a  boy,  so 
winning  and  bright  and  courteous  that  those  who 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.          43 

knew  him  well  loved  him  dearly,  and  those  who 
knew  him  never  so  little  began  to  love  him  at  once. 
Of  quite  a  different  fashion  was  another  of  our 
clergymen,  the  Eev.  John  Overton  Choules,  of  the 
Baptist  Church,  well  known  as  the  friend  of  Corne- 
lius Vanderbilt,  with  whom  and  in  whose  yacht  he 
made  a  long  voyage,  and  wrote  a  pretty  book  about 
it  afterward.  I  suppose  that  at  one  time  no  man  of 
his  profession  had  more  friends  in  all  parts  of  the 
country  than  Dr.  Choules.  I  recall  with  pleasure  his 
portly  figure  and  his  small  stature,  the  merry  twinkle 
of  his  eye,  his  cordial  and  engaging  manner,  his 
inexhaustible  fund  of  anecdote,  his  spectacles,  and 
his  constant  cigar.  He  was  a  restless  little  man, 
always  travelling,  a  welcome  awaiting  him  in  a 
hundred  houses,  public  and  private.  He  was  by 
birth  and  education  an  Englishman,  and  could  talk 
well  from  personal^  acquaintance  of  John  Foster, 
Robert  Hall,  and  other  lights  of  the  Baptist  con- 
nection. He  was  particularly  well  versed  in  the 
history  of  dissent,  and  his  fine  library  was  full  of 
rare  books  relating  to  the  commonwealth.  A  great 
many  bibliographical  nuggets  were  scattered  when, 
after  his  death,  his  collection  was  sold  at  auction. 
And  this  reminds  me  that  when  he  died,  to  the  grief 
of  all  who  intimately  knew  him,  sundry  small  people 
of  the  smaller  press  saw  fit  to  speak  of  him  in  an 
underbred,  familiar  way,  as  if  he  had  been  more  of 
a  Ion  vivant  and  jester  than  a  clergyman.  They 
were  much  surprised  when  others,  about  whose 


44         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

critical  judgment  there  could  be  no  mistake,  wrote 
of  him  gravely,  and  showed  of  what  little  account 
were  his  foibles  when  weighed  against  his  merits 
and  his  invincible  amiability.  I  remember  that 
Edwin  P.  Whipple,  the  essayist,  said  to  me,  "Dr. 
Choules  had  a  great  deal  of  religion,  and  of  the  good 
solid  kind,  too,"  —  by  which  Mr.  Whipple  meant 
rather  more  than  he  said. 

When  one  gets  into  the  company  of  clergymen, 
he  ought,  in  this  graceless  world,  to  be  in  no  hurry 
to  get  out  of  it.  Of  Channing,  I  can  only  say  that 
I  just  saw  and  heard  him;  and  I  now  think  that 
his  great  reputation  as  a  preacher  was  rather  due  to 
the  winning  and  apostolic  graces  of  his  manner  than 
to  the  force  and  vigor  of  his  discourses.  As  one 
reads  his  printed  sermons,  there  is,  I  think,  a  sense 
of  feebleness,  and  of  matter  larger  than  the  manner. 

This  came  to  some  extent  from  what  has  ruined  far 

• 

smaller  men  than  the  great  apostle  of  Unitarianism, 
—  a  habit  of  refining,  and  a  fear  of  anything  like  in- 
elegance. A  clergyman  who  was  upon  intimate  terms 
with  Dr.  Channing,  and  saw  a  good  many  of  his 
manuscripts,  told  me  that  they  were  remarkable  for 
interlineations  and  erasures ;  and  that  the  writer's 
constant  effort  seemed  to  be  to  get  rid  of  adjectives, 
which  was,  of  course,  laudable.  The  moral  courage 
of  this  great  man,  exhibited  in  his  essay  on  slavery, 
was  the  more  notable  because  he  was  naturally 
cautious,  and  had  a  great  horror  of  anything  like 
extremes.  He  struck  the  key-note  of  the  whole 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.          45 

crusade  against  the  "  institution,"  as  wiseacres  used 
to  be  fond  of  calling  it,  when  he  exclaimed,  "  Prop- 
erty in  man !  You  might  as  well  talk  of  property 
in  angels  ! "  Beacon  Street  was  wonderfully  stirred 
by  this  unexpected  evangel;  but  it  encountered 
many  surprises  of  the  kind  before  all  was  over,  and 
had  to  bear  as  best  it  might  the  defection  of  many 
of  its  most  respectable  denizens  from  the  safe  limits 
of  its  frigid  and  eminently  proper  conservatism. 
Shock  followed  shock  and  desertion  desertion,  until 
there  was  nobody  left  to  hold  up  the  hands  of  Dan- 
iel Webster  save  a  few  small  clergymen  and  smaller 
lawyers,  with  here  and  there  a  journalist  who  so 
misused  types  that  some  readers  regretted  their  in- 
vention. 

In  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott  there  is  an  account  of 
an  American  clergyman  who  visited  Abbotsford,  and 
astonished  the  servants  —  for  he  did  not  see  the 
master  —  by  the  eccentricity  of  his  conduct.  This 
good  man,  for  he  was  really  a  good  one,  was  uncom- 
monly long-winded  ;  and  preaching  one  summer  af- 
ternoon before  some  religious  convention  in  our 
church,  he  became  so  much  excited,  and  followed 
the  rule  of  Demosthenes  with  such  energy,  that  he 
knocked  his  sermon  from  the  pulpit-cushion,  through 
an  open  window,  into  the  street.  I  never  saw  an 
instance  of  greater  self-possession.  What  did  he 
do  ?  He  went  on  with  perfect  composure :  some- 
body went  out  in  search  of  the  vagabond  leaves; 
and  when  they  were  brought  back  and  placed  before 


46         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

him,  he  simply  rearranged  them,  and  proceeded  for 
an  hour  or  two  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  All 
he  did  during  the  absence  of  his  sermon  was  to  take 
off  his  spectacles,  maybe  out  of  some  delicate  ap- 
preciation of  the  everlasting  fitness  of  things. 

Perhaps  the  reader  will  remember  a  Methodist 
preacher,  the  Kev.  John  Newland  Maffit,  an  Irish- 
man who  always  reminded  me  of  the  Irish  orator  in 
"  Nicholas  Nickleby,"  who  made  a  speech  before  the 
Crumpet  and  Muffin  Association,  and  who  said  that 
he  should  demand  an  extension  of  the  blessings  of 
the  society  to  his  own  native  land,  that  he  looked 
eagerly  forward  to  that  time  when  crumpets  should 
be  toasted  in  her  lowly  cabins,  and  muffin-bells 
rung  in  her  dark-green  valleys.  Mr.  Maffit  pub- 
lished a  book  of  which  I  heard  when  a  boy  :  a  sen- 
tence in  it,  something  like  this,  we  used  to  quote 
with  screams  of  laughter  as  a  capital  example  of  the 
way  in  which  our  compositions  should  not  be  writ- 
Ten  :  "From  the  far-famed  haunts  of  romantic  Erin 
a  solitary  stranger  comes  to  lay  his  dew-starred  of- 
fering at  Columbia's  feet."  Long  years  after,  when 
I  heard  him  preach,  Mr.  Maffit's  style  was  still  as 
ornate  as  the  tail  of  a  peacock ;  yet  he  became  Pro- 
fessor of  Ehetoric  in  a  southwestern  college,  a  chap- 
lain of  Congress,  and  even  published  a  volume  of 
poems.  He  had  an  Irishman's  facility  for  getting 
into  trouble.  His  standing  in  the  church  was  a 
little  shaken,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  when  he  died 
he  was  a  member  of  any  conference.  He  is  worth 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.  47 

mentioning  as  an  instance  of  the  power  of  a  mere 
rhetorician  over  popular  masses.  When  I  heard 
him  I  knew  that,  so  far  as  taste  and  substance  were 
concerned,  it  was  all  very  bad  ;  yet  I  listened  to  his 
exquisitely  musical  voice  in  a  kind  of  trance,  and 
only  detected  the  unsubstantial  finery  when  he  had 
stopped  speaking. 

A  church  is  full  of  traditions ;  and  ours,  which 
had  passed  from  the  granite  foundations  of  Ortho- 
doxy to  the  pleasant  pastures  of  Unitarianism,  had 
its  full  share  of  them.  And  here  I  may  beg  my 
indulgent  reader  to  remember  that  I  sometimes 
speak  of  what  I  have  myself  seen  and  heard,  and 
sometimes  of  what  was  told  me.  I  could  never 
have  seen  the  Eev.  Samuel  West,  D.  D.,  among 
other  reasons,  because  he  died  thirteen  years  before 
I  was  born ;  but  I  saw  his  old  meeting-house,  two 
or  three  miles  from  the  town,  with  its  tall  pulpit 
and  great  square  pews  going  to  wreck  and  ruin, 
while,  with  great  numbers  of  his  congregation,  he 
peacefully  slumbered  in  the  adjacent  demesne.  This 
was  the  Dr.  West  who  had  the  temerity  to  write  a 
treatise  in  reply  to  Edwards  "  On  the  Will."  He 
did  the  State  some  service  during  the  Revolution, 
being  a  vigorous  writer  on  the  side  of  the  rebels. 
He  it  was  who  performed  for  the  patriots  a  service 
of  no  small  importance :  he  deciphered  the  treason- 
able letters  of  Dr.  Benjamin  Church,  —  an  exposure 
which  rendered  it  necessary  to  lock  up  that  false 
physician.  He  came  to  greater  grief  afterward,  for 


48         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

the  vessel  in  which  he  was  embarked  for  the  "West 
Indies  was  never  heard  from.  Our  Dr.  West  — 
there  was  another,  also  celebrated  —  wrote  knotty 
treatises  on  Liberty  and  Necessity  and  such  like 
trifles,  and  was  never  so  well  pleased  as  when  he 
was  up  to  his  dear  old  eyes  in  a  slough  of  theologi- 
cal dialectics.  Scores  of  stories  were  told  of  his  ab- 
sence of  mind  ;  how,  having  dismounted  to  rest  his 
old  horse,  the  animal  slipped  the  bridle,  and  the 
Doctor  walked  home  with  it  over  his  shoulder,  and 
with  no  suspicion  that  the  creature  was  not  behind. 
There  was  another  story  about  his  tucking  away 
most  of  the  table-cloth,  under  the  impression  that  it 
was  his  own  linen,  and  thus  making  havoc  of  the 
tea-things.  But  these  tales  are  told  of  every  eccen- 
tric mental  absentee,  and  so  far  as  they  refer  to  the 
Doctor,  I  do  not  vouch  for  them. 

Among  our  lecturers,  at  a  very  much  later  time, 
was  the  Eev.  John  Pierpont,  who  came  down  from 
Boston  to  expound  to  us  the  mysteries  of  phrenol- 
ogy. He  died  not  long  ago,  a  wonderfully  well- 
preserved  old  man,  considering  all  the  trials  and 
troubles  through  which  he  had  passed.  His  "  Airs 
of  Palestine,"  a  fine  poem  of  the  kind,  written  in 
the  sinewy  Pope  metre,  and  published  in  1816,  is 
before  me  as  I  write.  He  was  one  of  the  most  pug- 
nacious of  mortals,  and  lectured  furiously  in  behalf 
of  the  new  pseudo-science,  surrounded  by  skulls, 
which  he  handled  much  less  gingerly  than  Hamlet 
did  that  of  Yorick.  He  invented  stoves  and  razor- 


MEETING-HOUSES  AND  MINISTERS.          49 

strops ;  he  preached  temperance  at  the  Boston  wine 
and  spirit  merchants,  who  constituted  the  wealthiest 
part  of  his  congregation ;  he  would  not  "be  put  down, 
nor  go  out  until  he  got  ready  to  go  out,  —  and  so  he 
fought  a  good  fight  to  the  end.  Hundreds  of  Amer- 
ican youth  learned  to  read  in  his  "  American  First 
Class  Book,"  and  found  their  taste  insensibly  culti- 
vated by  the  excellence  of  its  selections.  Old  men, 
who  remembered  it  affectionately,  have  asked  me 
where  they  could  get  a  copy  of  the  reading-book  in 
which  they  were  drilled  in  the  far-off  school-days. 


50         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEK  IV. 

PEDAGOGUES  AND   POLITICS. 

THE  OLD  PUBLIC  SCHOOLS. — THE  DAYS  OF  THE  ROD.  —  AN 
OLD  SCHOOLMATE.  —  JOSEPH  LANCASTER.  —  DANIEL  WEBSTER 
IN  COURT.  —  WENDELL  PHILLIPS  IN  EARLY  LIFE.  —  THE 
DAYS  OF  PRESIDENTS  JACKSON  AND  VAN  BUREN.  —  THE 
MASSACHUSETTS  DEMOCRACY.  —  THE  RICH  AND  POOR.  — 
DR.  ORESTES  A.  BROWNSON.  —  GEORGE  BANCROFT. 

IT  is  customary  to  speak  of  the  public-school  sys- 
tem of  Massachusetts  as  coeval  with  the  founda- 
tion of  the  province.  The  Bay  State  orators  usually 
take  that  view  of  it,  in  well-chosen  language,  on 
public  occasions.  But  the  educational  methods  of 
all  New  England  are  mostly  of  modern  growth.  The 
original  schools,  of  which  the  Kev.  Warren  Burton 
has  given  a  clever  account  in  his  "  District  School 
as  It  Was,"  were  cheaply  managed  and  of  limited 
curriculum.  They  taught  arithmetic,  reading,  writ- 
ing, and  spelling,  with  a  little  grammar.  In  the 
country  their  sessions  by  no  means  covered  the  whole 
year ;  they  were  shabbily  housed,  and  a  master  was 
employed  only  during  the  winter  months ;  if  there 
was  a  summer  term,  it  was  confided  to  a  "  school- 
ma'am."  But  between  1820  and  1 830  great  improve- 
ments were  made,  especially  in  the  large  towns.  In 
our  own,  the  schools  were  graded,  and  the  influence 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  51 

of  Joseph  Lancaster  was  observable  at  this  time  in 
some  experiments  designed  to  test  the  value  of  his 
monitorial  plan.  Lancaster  was  a  Quaker,  whom  I 
never  saw,  but  of  whom  I  heard  a  great  deal  said,  — 
an  Englishman,  who  came  to  this  country,  and  who 
died  in  New  York  City  in  1838.  He  was  always  in 
trouble,  generally  of  the  pecuniary  sort,  for  he  had 
no  more  notion  of  managing  money  than  Mr.  Skim- 
pole  himself.  He  got  rid  of  great  sums,  which  were 
raised  for  him  in  England,  Canada,  and  the  United 
States.  He  was  expensive  in  his  habits  of  life,  and  I 
have  been  particularly  told  that  he  was  a  great  eater. 
His  plan  of  making  the  advanced  pupils  teach  those 
of  smaller  acquirements  is  not  at  present  much  es- 
teemed, but  it  created  a  great  noise  in  its  day.  My 
first  school  was  Lancastrian,  and  what  I  particularly 
admired  in  it  was  its  total  abstinence  from  corporal 
punishment,  which  Lancaster  regarded  as  a  device 
of  the  devil  himself,  with  its  whole  fearful  apparatus 
of  canes,  cowhides,  ferules,  and  birch  rods.  But 
there  was  fustigation  enough  in  the  next  seminary 
which  I  attended,  though  it  was  kept  by  a  Quaker. 
How  he  reconciled  the  principles  of  George  Fox  with 
his  continual  assaults  upon  our  tender  persons,  I 
never  could  make  out.  No  such  cruel  punishment  is 
now  known :  it  would  not  be  tolerated ;  the  police 
and  the  courts  would  put  a  stop  to  it  sternly.  It 
may  be  mentioned  as  a  matter  of  history.  The  cor- 
rectional system  which  our  teacher  adopted  was 
something  like  this :  He  would  begin  the  morning 


52         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

school  by  reading  a  chapter  in  the  Bible,  to  which 
we  listened  with  more  pain  than  piety,  for  we  knew 
what  was  to  follow.  He  would,  after  he  had  finished 
the  reading,  take  from  his  desk  a  paper  containing 
the  names  of  yesterday's  reprobates.  These  he  called 
up,  one  by  one,  and  vigorously  feruled.  The  cruelty 
of  it  was  not  so  much  in  the  blows,  though  they  were 
severe  enough  to  occasion  a  great  deal  of  howling, 
but  in  the  fearful  suspense  in  which  he  kept  us,  for 
nobody  knew  whether  his  name  was  upon  the  con- 
demned list  or  not.  For  mere  boys,  it  was  almost 
as  bad  as  the  rack  for  men.  When  I  came  to  read 
in  Montaigne  of  "  the  outcries  of  lads  under  execu- 
tion, and  the  thundering  of  pedagogues  drunk  with 
fury,"  I  recognized  at  once  the  truth  of  the  picture ; 
and  I  have  often  wondered  whether  Orbilius,  the 
plagosus  schoolmaster  of  Horace,  had  as  heavy  a 
hand  as  ours.  Charles  Lamb  tells  the  story  of  a 
schoolmate  who  pleaded,  when  Old  Boyer  was  about 
to  torture  him  for  not  learning  his  lesson,  that  he 
had  been  "suffering  from  a  lethargy";  one' of  our 
boys,  when  asked  why  he  refused  to  come  up  and  be 
flogged,  impudently  replied  that  "  he  had  the  lap- 
stone  fever,"  —  a  complaint  not  mentioned  in  any 
medical  dictionary.  The  master  immediately  treated 
the  patient  after  a  method  peculiarly  his  own,  and 
effected  a  perfect  cure  in  about  thirty  seconds. 

I  went  afterwards  to  a  more  advanced  school,  one 
reminiscence  of  which  may  be  here  introduced. 
The  Ellis  Bartlett,  who  was  the  father  of  the  young 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  53 

man  whose  marriage  with  the  Baroness  Burdett- 
Coutts  has  lately  been  so  much  discussed,  was  one 
of  my  earliest  associates  and  friends;  and  if  the 
story  of  his  son's  marital  experiences  shall  have 
any  future  interest,  I  may  here  say  that  there  is  no 
better  blood  in  the  world  than  the  blood  of  the  Old 
Colony,  —  now  Plymouth  County,  Massachusetts,  — 
and  of  this  my  old  friend,  Ellis  Bartlett,  had  a  plenty 
in  his  veins ;  it  is  quite  as  good  as  that  of  the  Bur- 
detts,  and  somewhat  better  than  that  of  the  Dukes 
of  St.  Albans.  I  am  in  no  position,  as  I  write,  for 
genealogical  research,  but  I  should  be  willing  to 
proffer  a  small  wager  that  the  ancestors  of  Ellis 
Bartlett,  if  it  could  be  determined,  were  among  those 
stern  and  stalwart  men  who  made  matters  unpleas- 
ant for  the  Stuarts  at  Naseby  and  at  Marston  Moor. 
I  write  this  because  the  father  of  Mr.  Bartlett,  now 
so  much  mentioned,  sat  side  by  side  with  me  years 
ago,  in  the  High  School  in  New  Bedford,  and  helped 
me  kindly  in  my  first  struggles  with  the  dead  lan- 
guages. A  tall,  raw-boned  youth  he  was  then,  des- 
tined for  Amherst  College,  and  preparing  for  his 
examination.  He  was  destined  also,  it  was  under- 
stood, for  the  sacred  ministry  in  the  Congregational 
Church ;  and  I  believe  that  he  was  in  some  way,  or 
was  to  be,  a  beneficiary  of  some  educational  society. 
We  boys  did  n't  know  much  about  that,  did  not  care 
much,  for  most  of  us  were  poor,  and  those  who  were 
rich  were  by  no  means  the  classical  ornaments  of 
our  forms.  What  I  remember  mostly  about  rny  old 


54         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST, 

friend  is  that  he  was  an  excellent  scholar.  It  all 
comes  back  to  me  now,  —  how  he,  who  was  a  sturdy 
student,  took  me,  a  little  fellow,  under  his  stout  right 
arm,  with  a  Cape  Cod  strength  in  it,  and  led  me  up 
and  down  the  bank  of  the  Scamander  and  under  the 
walls  of  windy  Troy. 

He  would  not  let  me  be  idle.  If  I  funked  at  reci- 
tation, he  took  me  into  some  quiet  corner  as  soon 
as  we  were  dismissed,  and  admonished  me  with  the 
color  upon  his  Puritan  cheeks ;  for  he  was  then  in 
dead  earnest,  whatever  ideas  of  the  best  life  might 
afterward  come  to  him.  For  my  own  part,  I  thought 
him  something  wonderful.  I  recollect  now  that,  in 
my  opinion,  he  was  the  best  writer  of  English  prose 
upon  this  continent,  and  how  I  marvelled  at  the 
dextrous  turn  of  his  sentences,  and  was  sure  that 
when  he  came  to  preach  in  a  pulpit  of  his  own  the 
sensation  in  the  pews  would  be  notable.  So  I  was 
quite  willing  to  enter  into  a  scheme  which  once, 
during  the  play-hour,  he  broached  to  me.  It  was 
that  we  should  meet  during  those  summer  days,  at 
sunrise,  at  his  own  room,  and  there  read  Homer  to- 
gether. There  was  romance  enough  in  the  sugges- 
tion to  tempt  me  into  early  rising ;  and  so,  in  the 
cool  of  the  dawn,  I  went  down  to  him  with  my  little 
Homer  and  my  big  lexicon  under  my  arm,  and  with 
thoughts  of  Achilles  and  Hector,  of  Priam  and  An- 
dromache, in  my  head.  I  am  told  that  these  sons 
of  my  early  friend  are  excellent  scholars,  —  better, 
doubtless,  with  their  Oxford  training,  than  we  were ; 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  55 

but  I  wonder  if  they  do  not  owe  something  of  their 
success  in  England  to  a  cleverness  and  a  persistence 
inherited  from  their  father. 

My  friend  Bartlett  went  to  one  college,  and  I 
went  to  another.  Our  paths  of  life,  which  ran  so 
closely  together  at  first,  pretty  soon  widely  diverged ; 
and  we  never  saw  much  of  each  other  afterward. 
We  will  not  quarrel  with  youthful  friendships 
because  they  last  no  longer :  they  go  with  the  fine 
fragrance  and  the  subtile  vitality  of  the  first  years. 
My  old  associate  preached  a  little,  I  think,  after  his 
graduation ;  dropped  out  of  preaching,  as  so  many 
do ;  dropped  into  commercial  transactions  of  which 
I  know  little ;  and  died  somewhere  in  middle  age, 
leaving  these  children,  of  whom  so  much  has  been 
lately  said,  and  especially  this  child,  who  has  en- 
grossed for  several  months  the  attention  of  the 
British  press  and  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
British  public.  Something  I  have  heard,  in  a  pri- 
vate way,  of  those  proposed  nuptials.  The  mother 
of  this  young  man,  as  I  chance  to  know,  was  of  an 
excellent  Philadelphia  family,  not  likely  to  be  made 
arrogant  even  by  an  alliance  with  the  heiress  of  a 
great  London  banker;  for  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  baroness  has  no  particularly  ancient  blood 
in  her,  but  comes  mainly  —  and  altogether  so  far  as 
fortune  is  concerned — of  plain  merchants  or  bankers, 
like  those  of  Boston  or  New  York.^  What  brought 
the  widow  of  Ellis  Bartlett  with  her  boys  to  Lon- 
don, and  how  she  became  the  intimate  friend  of  the 


56          REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

Baroness  Burdett-Coutts,  I  do  not  know,  and  do 
not  care  to  know.  So  much,  however,  in  the  shift- 
ing vicissitudes  of  human  affairs  happened,  with 
such  aftercome  as  the  Fates  may  vouchsafe.  Both 
boys  are  clever,  —  one  of  them  is  in  Parliament, 
thinking  occasionally,  I  hope,  of  his  father  upon 
that  stormy  Plymouth  corner  of  Massachusetts, 
fishing  sometimes,  and  then  selling  the  product  of 
the  fishery  about  the  town.  Member  of  Parliament, 
consort  of  a  baroness,  master  of  millions  sterling, 
object  of  the  jealousy  of  queen  and  aristocracy, 
talked  of  and  written  of,  he  would  have  no  occasion 
to  be  ashamed  of  that  father  for  whose  sake  I  have 
written  these  lines. 

It  was  during  my  school-days  that  I  first  saw 
and  heard  a  great  man,  known  afterward  as  "the 
expounder  of  the  Constitution,"  and  characterized 
by  his  more  enthusiastic  admirers  as  "  the  godlike." 
In  some  respects  he  was  not  unlike  some  of  the 
gods  mentioned  in  Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary ; 
but  the  title  was  not  a  fortunate  one,  and  his 
political  opponents  made  graceless  jokes  upon  it. 
When  I  first  saw  Daniel  Webster  he  was  about 
fifty  years  old,  and  in  the  full  perfection  of  that 
manly  beauty  which  made  him,  of  all  the  public 
men  of  his  time,  the  noblest  model  for  sculptors 
and  the  fittest  subject  for  painters,  before  the  art 
of  portraiture  was  so  nearly  lost.  He  had  not  then 
been  broken  by  disappointment  nor  bowed  by  hard 
work.  Every  movement  of  his  imposing  figure, 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  57 

every  glance  of  his  eye,  every  expression  of  his 
countenance,  betrayed  a  consciousness  of  power  and 
of  undaunted  confidence  in  his  own  intellectual 
abilities.  He  was  employed  in  a  somewhat  singu- 
lar case,  and  came  to  our  town  to  argue  it.  A  young 
man  of  fortune,  who  had  killed  himself  by  hard 
drinking,  had,  before  his  death,  given  a  number  of 
promissory  notes,  the  payment  of  which  was  dis- 
puted by  the  executor,  for  whom  Mr.  Webster  was 
retained.  The  trial  created  great  public  interest, 
and  the  court-room  was  crowded  to  repletion.  Mr. 
Webster  was  at  that  time  the  most  popular  man  in 
Massachusetts ;  his  noble  speech  in  the  Senate, 
made  in  1830,  —  perhaps  the  noblest  which  he  ever 
uttered,  —  was  still  freshly  remembered.  I  believe 
that  there  was  nothing  which  he  could  then  have 
asked  of  his  fellow-citizens  in  his  adopted  State, 
which  they  would  not  gladly  have  granted  him,  — 
either  office,  money,  or  the  most  complete  deference 
to  his  opinions.  When  he  is  charged  with  arro- 
gance and  with  a  spirit  of  dictation,  I  think  that 
this  should  be  considered.  The  feeling  which  led 
Massachusetts,  solitary  and  alone,  to  give  him  her 
electoral  vote  in  1836,  changed  very  slowly,  but 
alas !  very  surely,  as  questions  came  up  which 
tested  so  severely  his  statesmanship  and  political 
integrity.  But  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing, 
he  was  the  idol  of  the  Massachusetts  people.  So 
my  chance  of  getting  into  the  court-room  to  hear 
his  argument  was  limited ;  but  his  of  getting  in  to 


58         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

make  it,  at  one  moment,  did  not  seem  to  be  much 
better.  I  was  just  behind  him,  and  remember  how 
I  gazed  with  reverence  at  the  two  brass  buttons 
upon  the  back  of  his  blue  coat.  I  recall  nothing  of 
his  argument  save  one  effective  point  which  he 
made.  A  witness  for  the  plaintiff,  who  was  also 
a  partner  in  the  alleged  conspiracy  to  defraud  the 
maker  of  the  notes,  had  been  compelled  to  admit, 
under  Mr.  Webster's  rigorous  cross-examination, 
that  they  had  agreed  "  to  fling  their  chances  to- 
gether." When  he  came  to  this  point  in  his  speech 
to  the  jury,  the  orator's  eyes  flashed,  his  nostrils 
dilated,  while,  with  a  significant  gesture  and  in  a 
loud  voice,  he  exclaimed,  "  They  agreed  to  fling 
their  chances  together ;  and  they  would  be  flung  to- 
gether out  of  any  court  of  justice  in  Christendom  !" 
I  recall  an  anecdote  of  Mr.  Webster  connected 
with  this  very  trial,  which  was  told  me  by  Mr. 
Charles  Henry  Warren,  who  was  associated  with 
him  in  the  case.  There  had  been  so  much  delay 
in  its  progress  that  Mr.  Webster,  who  wanted  to  be 
back  in  Boston  to  entertain  a  dinner-party  upon  a 
day  which  had  been  fixed,  lost  his  patience,  and 
repeatedly  declared  that  he  would  not  argue  the 
case  at  all.  They  went  home  to  dinner,  during 
which  Mr.  Webster  remained  silent  and  gloomy. 
At  the  end  of  the  repast,  he  came  back  to  the  sub- 
ject :  "  Tell  your  client,  Mr.  Warren,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  shall  not  argue  this  case."  Then  the  blood  of  all 
the  Warrens,  which  was  quite  as  good  as  the  blood 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  59 

of  all  the  Websters,  was  aroused.  "  Mr.  "Webster," 
said  the  judge,  "  my  client  is  your  client,  and  if  you 
have  any  messages  to  send  to  him,  you  may  send 
them  by  your  own  bootblack."  Mr.  Webster  gave 
a  great  start,  looked  fiercely  into  the  fire  for  about 
ten  minutes,  and  then,  jumping  up,  with  a  smile, 
said,  "  Charley,  is  n't  it  about  time  to  go  into 
court  ? "  And  into  court  they  went,  and  Mr.  Web- 
ster did  stay  to  argue  the  case,  and  won  it,  though 
the  verdict  was  afterward  set  aside. 

Massachusetts,  in  earlier  times,  was  hardly  ever 
in  accord  with  the  General  Government,  but  its 
opposition  to  the  Jackson  and  Van  Buren  adminis- 
trations was  particularly  bitter  and  persistently 
unbroken.  It  was  intensified  by  traditions  of  old 
quarrels  with  the  Washington  powers,  which,  though 
long  allayed,  had  still  left  a  root  of  bitterness. 
There  was  a  trace  of  this  in  the  first  address  which 
I  heard  Mr.  Wendell  Phillips  deliver,  —  a  Fourth 
of  July  oration  given  in  our  town  just  after  he  left 
the  university,  I  believe  in  1831.  When  he  stood 
up  in  the  pulpit  I  thought  him  the  handsomest  man 
I  had  ever  seen ;  when  he  began  to  speak,  his 
elocution  seemed  the  most  beautiful  to  which  I  had 
ever  listened,  and  I  was  sure  that  the  orations  of 
Cicero,  which  I  had  just  begun  to  thumb,  were 
given  to  the  S.  P.  Q.  E.  with  much  smaller  effect. 
Even  then  the  great  orator  of  the  Abolitionists  was 
an  admirable  speaker ;  nor  did  he,  though  scarcely 
past  his  majority,  lack  the  grace  and  force  of  Ian- 


60         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

guage  with  which  the  whole  country  has  since 
become  familiar;  there  was,  beside,  a  fresh  and 
youthful  enthusiasm  which  could  not  last  forever. 
He  had  then  all  the  pride  of  State  feeling,  which  he 
had  probably  inherited  from  his  Federal  ancestors, 
and  I  remember  one  expression  which  fell  from  his 
lips,  which,  in  the  light  of  his  subsequent  career, 
is  a  little  curious.  He  was  speaking  of  the  political 
history  of  the  State,  and  of  its  frequent  isolation  in 
politics,  and  electrified  us  all  by  exclaiming,  "  The 
star  of  Massachusetts  has  shone  the  brighter  for 
shining  alone!"  I  suspect  that  even  then  Mr. 
Phillips's  Federal  relations  were  in  r.ather  an  un- 
certain condition. 

The  opposition  of  Massachusetts  to  the  Jackson 
and  Van  Buren  administrations  was  peculiar  in  one 
respect.  The  Whigs  claimed  all  the  decency,  refine- 
ment, wealth,  and  cultivation  of  the  State,  if  not  of 
the  United  States.  Governor  John  H.  Clifford,  when 
a  young  man  in  the  Legislature,  imprudently  spoke 
of  the  Democrats  of  the  town  which  he  represented 
as  "  poor  in  character  and  meagre  in  numbers."  It 
was  one  of  those  unfortunate  speeches  frequently 
made  by  politicians,  which  are  easily  remembered, 
and  become  stereotyped  weapons  to  be  used  on  awk- 
ward occasions  against  their  utterers.  Whether 
Daniel  Webster  ever  really  did  say  that  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  the  Whigs  "  to  come  down  into  the  forum 
and  take  the  people  by  the  hand,"  I  never  could  find 
out ;  but  a  great  many  voters  thought  that  he  had 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  61 

said  so,  and  voted  against  him  on  account  of  that  re- 
mark whenever  they  had  an  opportunity.  These 
words,  which  were  printed  over  and  over  again,  in 
the  largest  of  type,  in  all  the  Democratic  newspapers, 
contain  in  themselves  the  substance  of  a  great  deal 
of  the  political  discussion  at  that  time.  Some  of 
the  Democrats  of  Massachusetts  —  Bancroft,  Brown- 
son,  Eantoul  —  were  thorough  doctrinaires,  and  gave 
a  philosophical  turn  to  their  speeches  which  puzzled 
and  profoundly  impressed  their  audiences.  The  idea 
was  that  the  rich  men  were  trying  always  and  ma- 
liciously to  get  the  better  of  the  poor  men,  and  that 
in  these  reprehensible  designs  the  autocrats  of  Boston 
were  particularly  malignant.  Some  of  these  gentle- 
men were  practical  enough  in  their  views  to  hold 
profitable  offices,  and  they  were  charged,  truly  or 
falsely,  with  a  wish  to  keep  the  party  in  the  State 
"  conveniently  small,"  in  order  that  their  share  of  the 
loaves  and  fishes  might  be  all  the  larger.  Dr.  Brown- 
son,  then  in  the  gall  of  radicalism  and  the  bitterness 
of  general  dissatisfaction,  held  some  situation,  not 
lucrative  enough  to  enrich  him ;  so  did  Mr.  Nathaniel 
Hawthorne,  another  Democrat  upon  abstract  princi- 
ples, whose  chief  service  to  the  party  consisted  in 
sending,  now  and  then,  a  delightful  paper  to  "  The 
Democratic  Eeview."  Dr.  Brownson  could  do  good, 
slashing  work,  upon  occasion ;  and  when  he  did  not 
wander  off  into  a  perfect  maze  of  speculation,  he  was 
an  excellent  stump-speaker.  I  heard  him  once  raise 
a  mighty  roar  of  applause  by  defining  a  locofoco  as 


62         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST 

"a  man  always  carrying  his  own  light."  He  was 
publishing  then  the  first  series  of  his  Quarterly 
Review,  —  a  very  different  work  from  the  last  series 
of  that  periodical,  issued  after  he  became  a  Catholic. 
He  discussed  the  sub-treasury  and  other  questions 
in  the  light  of  the  eclectic  philosophy ;  and,  in  spite 
of  all  he  knew  of  the  Democratic  party  in  New 
York  and  New  Hampshire  and  elsewhere,  he  always 
persisted  in  speaking  of  it  as  a  party  of  advanced 
religious  views  and  of  a  specially  illuminated  char- 
acter. It  is  possible  that  he  may  have  known  what 
he  meant,  but  that  was  more  than  could  be  always 
affirmed  with  truth  of  his  hearers.  He  said  once,  in 
discussing  some  Whig  pamphlet:  "If  this  is  the 
best  answer  which  the  Whigs  of  Massachusetts  can 
make  to  an  exposition  of  Democratic  principles,  they 
had  better  set  their  houses  in  order,  for  the  day  of 
their  departure  is  at  hand.  The  people  are  weary  of 
this  eternal  cant  and  of  tbis  eternal  absence  of  liv- 
ing principle  and  of  manly  thought."  This  sounded 
beautifully ;  but  it  really  meant  that  Mr.  Henshaw 
or  Mr.  Bancroft  ought  to  be  collector  of  the  port  of 
Boston,  or  that  Mr.  Van  Buren  ought  to  follow  Gen- 
eral Jackson  in  the  presidency.  What  did  the  Gal- 
lios  of  New  York,  the  Silas  Wrights,  the  Mings,  the 
Mike  Walshes,  and  the  Levi  D.  Slams  care  for  these 
things  ?  I  think  that  even  Mr.  Van  Buren  must 
have  laughed  a  little  in  his  sleeve  at  the  astonishing 
way  in  which  his  Massachusetts  philosophers  de- 
fended him. 


PEDAGOGUES  AND  POLITICS.  63 

Mr.  Bancroft  was  another  Massachusetts  Demo- 
crat of  the  doctrinaire  school.  He  made  a  great  deal 
of  money  in  the  Boston  Custom  House,  for  an  office 
like  his  meant  a  fortune  in  those  days.  I  do  not 
think  that  he  much  cared  to  deliver  stump  speeches ; 
but  he  had  no  choice.  Every  Democratic  office- 
holder who  could  speak,  and  would  not  speak,  was 
made  to  speak.  Mr.  Hawthorne,  who  could  no  more 
speak  than  jump  over  a  wide  river,  was  of  course 
excused.  Mr.  Bancroft  brought  the  rhetoric  of  his 
History  to  the  platform.  He  was  ornate,  gilded,  and 
occasionally  flaming.  Whatever  he  might  be  dis- 
cussing, —  and  people  did  not  discuss  much  save  the 
sub-treasury  in  those  times,  —  he  seldom  deigned  to 
descend  from  his  stilts.  He  had  a  favorite  way  of 
beginning  these  election  harangues.  He  would  look 
with  an  expression  of  astonishment  at  the  audience, 
and  exclaim,  with  the  gesture  of  Hamlet  at  the  first 
sight  of  the  ghost,  "  This  vast  assemblage  might  well 
appall  me  ! "  This  impressed  those  who  had  never 
heard  it  more  than  twice  before,  and  it  had  the  fur- 
ther effect  of  giving  the  audience  aforesaid  a  good 
conceit  of  its  own  proportions.  I  have  said  that  Mr. 
Bancroft  could  never  get  off  his  stilts,  but  occasion- 
ally lie  relaxed  a  little  his  stately  dignity.  He  was 
speaking  one  night  of  the  great  Whig  procession  in 
Boston  in  1840.  It  undoubtedly  did  rain  while  the 
WThig  army  was  marching  to  Bunker  Hill ;  and  Mr. 
Bancroft  improved  the  circumstance  with  a  surpris- 
ing mixture  of  altitudinousness  and  familiarity. 


64         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

" '  We  appeal  to  Heaven/  "  he  said,  "  was  written 
upon  the  impious  banner.  Heaven  heard  the  ap- 
peal, and  sent  down  upon  the  throng  the  nastiest 
shower  of  the  season!"  Mr.  Bancroft's  audience 
could  understand  this  better  than  his  long  disserta- 
tions upon  the  progress  of  the  Democratic  principle 
during  the  eighteenth  century  in  Europe  and  Amer- 
ica ;  and  as  he  was  not  averse  to  applause,  he  went 
back  to  his  Custom  House  contented,  as  he  had  good 
reason  to  be. 

The  commercial  troubles  (to  go  back  a  little) 
which  General  Jackson's  financial  policy  in  remov- 
ing the  deposits  was  supposed  to  have  occasioned, 
so  affected  our  own  town  that  one  business  house 
after  another  toppled  over,  and  all  was  consternation. 
Under  these  circumstances  it  was  wisely  suggested 
that  a  delegation  of  three  persons  should  be  sent  to 
Washington  to  remonstrate  with  General  Jackson, 
and  persuade  that  most  easily  persuaded  person  to 
reconsider  his  action.  An  old  Quaker  merchant,  who 
•was  among  the  insolvents,  nominated  himself,  an- 
other merchant,  remarkable  for  long-windedness,  and 
a  third  for  the  ease  with  which  he  wept  on  all  occa- 
sions. "  James,"  he  said,  "  can  do  all  the  talking ; 
John  can  do  all  the  crying ;  and  I  '11  go  as  a  monu- 
ment of  the  times."  Whether  General  Jackson 
could  have  resisted  such  a  trio  as  this,  I  do  not 
know;  but  as  all  sorts  of  delegations,  with  much 
talking  and  crying,  appealed  to  him  in  vain,  I  sus- 
pect that  the  sufferers  did  not  lose  much  when  our 
project  was  abandoned. 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.      65 


CHAPTER  V. 

OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS  AND   OKATOES. 

THE  WHIG  PARTY  PREVIOUS  TO  1840.  — METHODS  AND  DIS- 
CIPLINE OF  THE  DEMOCRATIC  PARTY.  —  AMOS  KENDALL'S 
CIRCULAB.— RICHARD  HAUGHTON.— THE  BOSTON  ATLAS  AND 
MR.  WEBSTER.  —  THE  BEGINNING  OF  HENRY  WILSON'S 
POLITICAL  CAREER.— EDWARD  EVERETT.  —  ALEXANDER  H. 
EVERETT.—  EUFUS  CHOATE. 

DUEING  the  warm  political  contests  which  pre- 
ceded the  great  Whig  victory  of  1840,  the 
Whig  party  was,  with  all  its  numbers  and  ability,  in 
a  disorganized  condition,  lacking  discipline,  concerted 
action,  unanimity  even  of  opinion,  and  especially 
harmony  as  to  candidates  for  the  presidency.  The 
friends  of  Mr.  Webster  and  of  Mr.  Clay  were  so 
governed  by  personal  admiration  that  they  formed 
hardly  more  than  personal  factions.  Each  of  these 
statesmen  thought,  most  erroneously,  that  he  had 
"  claims "  upon  the  presidency,  as  if,  under  our 
Constitution,  any  man  could  have  such  ;  and  so, 
once  in  four  years,  he  set  his  squadrons  in  the  field, 
and  just  as  often  they  went  down  to  the  dust  be- 
fore the  serried  phalanx  of  the  Democracy,  then  the 
most  thoroughly  compact  party  which  this  republic 
had  ever  seen,  —  more  compact,  perhaps,  than  any 
which  it  has  seen  since.  For  it  believed  in  what 

5 


66          REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

John  Quincy  Adams  felicitously  called  "  the  cohe- 
sive power  of  public  plunder."  It  held  all  the 
national  offices  of  emolument  in  an  iron  grip,  and 
disdained  to  even  affect  any  secret  of  the  uses 
which  it  constantly  made  of  them.  During  the  hot 
battle  of  1840,  before  he  surrendered  the  office  of 
postmaster-general  to  go  personally  into  the  field, 
Amos  Kendall  issued  a  confidential  circular-letter, 
which  I  saw  and  read,  calling  upon  his  deputy  post- 
masters, and  upon  others  in  place,  to  do  everything 
in  their  power  to  promote  the  re-election  of  Mr.  Van 
Buren.  Coming  from  such  an  official  source,  writ- 
ten by  such  a  man,  and  sent  to  such  persons,  this 
letter  was  in  itself  significant  and  suggestive,  but 
the  language  which  Mr.  Kendall  saw  fit  to  use  was 
still  more  so.  "  I  shall  take  care,"  he  said,  "  that 
the  high-minded  and  patriotic  men  who  do  this 
service  shall  have  no  cause  to  regret  their  exertions." 
These  words  may  be  considered  ambiguous,  but 
those  who  read  them  understood  them  well  enough. 
My  only  wonder  is  that,  in  the  existing  state  of 
political  morality,  there  should  have  been  about 
such  general  orders  from  headquarters  any  affecta- 
tion of  privacy. 

The  canvass  of  1840  owed  its  peculiarities,  and 
they  were  many,  to  a  general  popular  dissatisfaction. 
The  Democrats  had  been  in  power  for  twelve  years 
and  had  contracted  many  of  those  vices  into  which 
a  consciousness  of  great  strength  and  prolonged 
continuance  in  office  will  usually  betray  any  party. 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.      67 

It  is  only  fair  to  ascribe  the  nomination  of  General 
Harrison  to  the  tact  and  foresight  of  Richard  Haugh- 
ton,  the  editor  of  "  The  Boston  Atlas,"  and  to  the 
vigorous  way  in  which  his  plans  were  supported  in 
that  newspaper  by  Eichard  Hildreth.  It  is  curious 
that  the  cherished  aspirations  of  Mr.  Webster  should 
have  been  thus  blighted  in  the  house  of  his  friends. 
But  Mr.  Haughton  was  a  man,  as  he  has  been  de- 
scribed to  me,  of  remarkable  energy  of  character; 
and  moreover  he  was  not  a  Boston  man,  for  he  had 
received  his  political  and  newspaper  training  in 
New  York.  He  was  not,  himself,  much  of  a  writer, 
but  he  had  the  faculty  of  getting  and  of  keeping 
about  him  clever  men.  The  strong  articles  in  which 
Mr.  Webster  was  thrust  aside  as  a  candidate,  and 
General  Harrison  put  prominently  in  his  place, 
were  mainly  written  by  Mr.  Hildreth,  but  undoubt- 
edly they  were  inspired  by  Mr.  Haughton  and  care- 
fully revised  by  him.  He  did  what  I  think  few 
editors  would  think  it  necessary  to  do  now :  he  took 
a  proof-sheet  of  the  first  article,  in  which  he  indi- 
cated the  course  which  he  intended  to  pursue,  to 
Mr.  Webster  himself.  There  was  a  stormy  inter- 
view, of  which  I  have  heard  several  versions,  but  I 
shall  follow  the  tradition  current  in  "The  Atlas" 
office  when  I  was  one  of  the  editors  of  that  news- 
paper. When  Mr.  Webster  had  read  the  article  his 
rage  was  boundless,  and  I  have  heard  it  intimated 
that  he  ordered  Mr.  Haughton  out  of  his  house,  —  a 
command  which  the  man  was  hardly  likely  to  heed 


68          REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

until  he  had  said  what  he  had  come  to  say.  He 
waited  for  Mr.  Webster  to  grow  calmer.  He  then 
set  forth  the  political  situation  with  great  plainness 
of  speech.  "  You  cannot  be  President,"  he  said ; 
"  but  you  can  have  an  office  quite  as  important  and 
honorable ;  you  can  be  Secretary  of  State.  This 
article  is  to  be  published  to-morrow  morning.  You 
know  how  it  will  irritate  your  friends  in  Boston. 
I  do  not  ask  you  to  say  to  them  that  you  approve 
of  it,  nor  that  you  disapprove  of  it.  I  merely  ask 
you  to  say  nothing."  Mr.  Webster  was  finally  per- 
suaded that  this  course  would  be  at  least  the  most 
dignified.  So  when  "  The  Atlas  "  appeared  on  that 
eventful  day,  great  was  the  commotion  in  State 
Street,  down  which  Mr.  Webster  walked  with  more 
than  his  usual  stately  dignity.  Out  rushed  respect- 
ability from  many  doors :  "  Mr.  Webster,  have  you 
seen  '  The  Atlas '  ?  "  cried  one.  "  Have  you  read  that 
shameful  article  ? "  asked  another.  People  who  saw 
the  scene  have  told  me  that  Mr.  Webster's  bearing 
under  this  fire  of  questions  was  magnificent.  "I 
have  not  seen  the  article,"  he  said,  "  nor  do  I  care 
to  see  it.  I  suppose  that  the  editor  of  the  news- 
paper expresses  his  opinions,  as  he  has  a  right  to 
do."  This  was  precisely  what  Mr.  Haughton  wished 
Mr.  Webster  to  say.  The  great  man  had  taken 
himself  out  of  the  way ;  and  I  do  not  suppose  that 
the  editor  of  "The  Atlas"  would  at  that  moment 
have  given  anybody  sixpence  to  insure  the  nomina- 
tion of  General  Harrison  —  perhaps  not  a  shilling 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.      69 

to  secure  his  election.  Mr.  Webster  swallowed  this 
indignity,  as  he  did  others,  when  resentment  would 
have  cost  him  too  much,  and  made  more  than  one 
speech  during  the  campaign,  though  none  of  them 
were  particularly  good  ones. 

Massachusetts  gracefully  acquiesced  in  the  in- 
evitable and  gave  General  Harrison  an  enormous 
majority.  But  only  the  year  before  she  had  suffered 
what  to  her  was  the  mortification  of  seeing  Marcus 
Morton,  who  had  from  time  immemorial  been  the 
Democratic  candidate  for  governor,  elected  by  a 
majority  of  one,  and  the  Whig  supremacy  in  the 
State  for  the  first  time  shaken.  Governor  Morton, 
by  a  singular  coincidence,  several  years  after,  was 
again  elected  by  a  majority  of  one.  Once  there  was 
a  delay  of  the  train  running  to  Boston,  and  the 
governor,  consulting  his  watch,  said  impatiently, 
"  I  suppose  that  we  shall  get  in  by  one."  "  Well, 
yes,  Governor,"  said  Attorney-General  Clifford ; 
"  your  Excellency  usually  gets  in  by  one."  In  the 
vigorous  campaign  which  followed  General  Harri- 
son's nomination,  the  State  furnished  its  full  quota 
of  able  speeches,  while  "  The  Atlas "  fired  daily 
broadsides  into  the  sinking  ship  of  Van  Buren  with 
a  vehemence  which  manifested  itself  in  the  constant 
use  of  capital  letters  and  italics,  and  of  words  selected 
for  their  force  rather  than  their  dignity.  There  was 
a  story  that  the  young  lawyers  of  Boston  made 
sporadic  forays  into  the  rural  districts  in  cowhide 
boots,  felt  hats,  and  homespun  coats.  We  first 


70         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

began  to  hear  about  that  time  of  one  Henry  Wilson, 
a  shoemaker,  of  the  little  town  of  Natick ;  he  was, 
indeed,  usually  announced  as  "  the  Natick  Cobbler." 
The  Whigs,  laboring  under  an  imputation  of  aristo- 
cratic feeling,  found  him  a  particularly  useful  stump 
speaker.  It  was  the  beginning  of  a  career  of  which 
something  may  be  said  in  these  papers  hereafter. 
Mr.  Wilson  was  anything  but  a  speaker  formed  in 
the  school  of  Edward  Everett,  whose  rhetoric  and 
elocution  the  young  Whigs  were  so  fond  of  imitat- 
ing, and  who  was  in  every  respect  an  excellent 
model  for  those  who  thought  models  to  be  necessary 
at  all,  as  Mr.  Henry  Wilson  most  decidedly  did  not. 
Nothing  could  be  finer  than  Mr.  Everett's  art ; 
voice,  gesture,  matter,  manner,  all  were  perfect. 
Critics  complained  that  he  was  too  perfect,  that 
he  had  not  the  artem  celare  artem.  It  was  all  very 
beautiful  while  one  listened  to  it,  and  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  it  was  not  also  beautiful  to  remember ; 
but  perhaps  there  was  in  this  fine  speaker's  oratory 
a  lack  of  robustness  and  weighty  solidity.  Yet 
nothing  could  be  more  fascinating  than  the  skill 
with  which  he  advanced  to  the  climax,  nothing 
more  magnificent  than  the  climax  itself.  Some- 
times it  was  so  superb  that  it  fairly  lifted  the  people 
off  their  feet ;  while  being  delivered  with  absolute 
dramatic  propriety,  its  glitter  seemed  to  be  warmth, 
and  its  rhythmic  beauty  provoked  a  thunder  of  cheers. 
Anybody  who  will  look  over  the  printed  speeches 
of  Mr.  Everett  will  easily  discover  the  passages  to 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIAN'S,  AND  ORATORS.      71 

which  I  refer,  —  the  billows  which  roll  and  swell 
with  a  well-managed  crescendo,  until  the  ninth  of 
them  melts  along  the  shore.  The  first  speech  which 
I  heard  Mr.  Everett  make  was  in  behalf  of  Bunker 
Hill  Monument,  —  a  shaft  which  went  up  slowly 
through  lack  of  money,  and  made  necessary  a  great 
expenditure  of  eloquence.  This  was  perhaps  as 
nearly  an  improvised  address  as  Mr.  Everett  ever 
made  in  his  life,  for  he  was  called  upon  rather  un- 
expectedly ;  yet  there  were  no  flaws  in  it,  and  no 
traces  of  the  hesitation  of  extempore.  His  descrip- 
tion of  the  battle  was  extremely  terse  and  animated ; 
arid  long  years  after,  when  I  was  called  upon  to 
write  an  account  of  it,  I  was  not  easy  until  I  had 
sent  a  long  distance  for  a  printed  report  of  this  well- 
remembered  speech.  Mr.  Everett  was  a  man  who 
never  did  anything  badly  or  carelessly ;  and  this 
address,  given  in  a  small  town  to  a  small  audience, 
was  just  as  fine  in  its  way  as  his  great  oration  upon 
Washington.  Indeed,  I  do  not  remember  any  his- 
torical American  who  could  do  so  many  and  such 
various  things  so  well.  A  professor  of  Greek,  a 
clergyman,  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  both  represen- 
tative and  senator  in  Congress,  a  governor,  an  am- 
bassador, a  college  president,  a  secretary  of  state,  an 
admirable  lecturer,  a  miscellaneous  and  clever  writer 
for  "  The  North  American  Eeview "  as  well  as  for 
Bonner's  "  Ledger,"  in  early  life  a  maker  of  elegant 
verses,  —  what  was  there  which  he  did  not  do,  and 
what  was  there  which  he  did  not  do  well  ?  With  a 


72         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

consciousness""of  his  own  miscellaneous  capacities,  it 
is  not  strange  that  he  manifested  a  passion  for  the 
presidency,  —  that  infirmity  which  has  so  surely  and 
so  sorely  afflicted  so  many  of  our  public  characters 
whether  able  or  mediocre.  Mr.  Everett  in  the  House 
of  Representatives,  when  it  was  full  of  first-rate  men, 
was  one  of  the  most  effective  and  persistent  oppo- 
nents of  the  Jackson  administration.  I  recall  a 
passage  in  one  of  his  speeches,  which  I  declaimed 
in  school  sopn  after  it  was  delivered,  and  which 
is  worth  quoting  as  a  specimen  of  Mr.  Everett's 
manner.  General  Jackson  had  charged  his  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury,  who  had  refused  to  remove  the 
deposits,  with  being  bribed  by  the  bank ;  and  Mr. 
Everett,  upon  this,  exclaimed  with  elegant  indigna- 
tion, "  I  believe  if  any  king  of  England,  of  the 
House  of  Brunswick,  had  uttered  such  an  accusa- 
tion against  a  first  Lord  of  the  Treasury,  the  day  on 
which  he  uttered  it  would  have  been  the  last  of  his 
reign.  He  would  have  been  hurried  from  the 
palace  to  the  Tower,  and  from  the  Tower  to  the 
scaffold ;  or,  if  measures  had  been  adopted  more 
consonant  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  Parliament 
would  have  resolved  that  the  royal  intellect  was 
impaired,  and  the  unhappy  monarch  would  have 
lingered  out  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  the  gloom- 
iest haunts  and  darkest  recesses  of  Windsor  Castle." 
I  give  the  passage  from  memory:  the  reader  will 
notice  the  climax,  the  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Everett's 
rhetoric,  of  which  I  have  already  spoken.  Of  this 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.      73 

remarkable  man  I  shall  have  something  more  to 
say  in  another  chapter.  __ 

Few  people,  save  professed  political  students,  now 
remember,  perhaps,  Mr.  Alexander  H.  Everett,  a 
younger  brother  of  Edward  Everett,  a  gentleman  of 
great  learning  and  talent,  who  went  from  advanced 
Whiggery  to  advanced  Democracy  during  General 
Jackson's  second  term.  Though  he  held  at  various 
times  important  offices,  mainly  diplomatic,  he  can 
hardly  be  considered  a  fortunate  man.  What  drove 
him  into  the  Democratic  party  I  do  not  know ;  but 
I  remember  that  there  was  a  feeling  in  Boston  that 
he  had  somewhat  lost  caste.  He  had  not  the  uni- 
form success  of  his  brother,  and  I  suspect  that  he 
lacked  his  brother's  cautious  prudence.  He  had 
great  chances,  his  work  suggests  a  robust  and  sin- 
ewy nature ;  but  somehow  he  did  not  get  on.  His 
knowledge  of  European  literature  of  the  eighteenth 
century  was  consummate ;  and  I  heard  him  deliver 
an  admirable  oration  upon  that  topic  before  the  Phi- 
lermenian  Society  of  Brown  University,  in  1837,  full 
of  lively  portraiture  and  sound  and  graceful  criticism. 
In  "  The  North  American  Eeview  "  he  defended  the 
United  States  against  the  sneering  misrepresentations 
of  a  class  of  British  tourists,  which  fortunately  has 
become  extinct.  I  mention  particularly  his  review 
of  Hamilton's  "Men  and  Manners  in  America,"  a 
wonderful  piece  of  recrimination,  because  I  have  been 
told  that  Hamilton  himself  read  it  with  anything 
but  satisfaction,  and  found  its  sharp  dissection  not 


74         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

at  all  soothing  to  his  Scotch  temper.  The  cockney 
travellers  —  Trollope,  Fiddler,  Hamilton,  and  the  rest 
of  them  —  tried  us  sorely,  for  our  skins  were  then 
thinner,  and  our  self-constituted  judges  shallower. 
We  may  take  a  little  honest  pride  in  the  fact  that 
nobody  writes  such  books  about  us  now. 

Mr.  Eufus  Choate  was  a  prominent  political  Mas- 
sachusetts figure  in  the  campaign  of  1840.  He  was 
then  forty-two  years  old,  in  the  full  flush  of  intel- 
lectual if  not  of  physical  vigor ;  he  was  sent  to  the 
Senate,  to  take  the  place  of  Mr.  "Webster  there,  but 
I  believe  it  was  admitted  that  he  did  not  develop 
political  ability  at  all  commensurate  with  his  repu- 
tation as  a  legal  advocate.  He  had  not  exhibited 
much  prudence  as  a  representative  in  Congress  in 
1832 ;  and  in  the  Senate  he  was,  upon  one  occasion 
at  least,  rather  harshly  treated  by  Mr.  Clay.  At  the 
end  of  his  term,  in  1846,  he  was  glad  to  go  back  to 
his  law  books  and  the  Boston  bar.  Opinions  may 
differ  respecting  his  attainments  in  the  science  of 
law:  hard-headed  old  judges  like  Chief  Justice  Shaw, 
perhaps,  did  not  think  so  highly  of  them  as  did  Mr. 
Choate's  clients,  rescued  by  him  from  the  extreme 
penalties  of  the  law ;  but  in  spite  of  grave  faults  of 
taste,  the  brilliancy  of  Mr.  Choate,  his  fervor,  pas- 
sion, and  verbal  opulence  put  him  in  the  front  rank 
of  rhetoricians.  Unfortunately,  he  has  left  little  or 
nothing  to  justify  the  great  reputation  which  he  at- 
tained while  living.  Posterity  cannot  see  his  flash- 
ing eye,  nor  mark  his  dramatic  action,  nor  hear  the 


OLD  POLITICS,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.      75 

wonderful  intonations  which  colored  and  intensified 
his  elocution.  His  fame  will  experience  something 
of  the  actor's  ill-fortune.  But  no  man  was  moro 
talked  of  in  his  time,  which  already  seems  so  far  off, 
— his  habits,  his  curious  learning,  his  great  power  of 
application,  his  winning  way  with  juries,  his  classi- 
cal tastes,  and  his  astonishing  handwriting,  the  most 
illegible  which  I  ever  saw.  I  recall  one  occasion 
when  anybody  who  could  have  read  one  of  his  let- 
ters would  have  been  entitled  to  a  handsome  gratu- 
ity. I  was  studying  law  in  the  office  of  the  Hon. 
Thomas  D.  Eliot,  the  well-known  member  of  Con- 
gress. There  was  a  case  in  which  both  Mr.  Choate 
and  Mr.  Eliot  were  engaged ;  and  the  former  sent 
down  to  his  junior  instructions  for  making  an  im- 
mediate motion  of  some  importance.  Not  a  man  in 
the  office  could  read  the  letter,  —  not  Mr.  Eliot,  nor 
Mr.  John  A.  Kasson,  his  partner,  nor  any  one  of  the 
students.  Here  was  an  unpleasant  dilemma!  A 
letter  to  Mr.  Choate,  asking  for  explanation,  was  sug- 
gested ;  but  time  pressed,  and  there  was  no  certainty 
that  the  answer  would  be  any  more  readable.  At 
last,  somebody  proposed  a  telegraphic  dispatch,  with 
a  request  for  an  immediate  reply.  It  was  argued 
conclusively  that  the  electric  fluid  didn't  write 
splatter-dash  hieroglyphics.  The  plan  succeeded 
perfectly,  and  the  motion  was  made  in  time.  The 
velocity  of  Mr.  Choate's  elocution  was  equally  the 
despair  of  the  reporters.  Leslie  Coombs,  of  Kentucky, 
once  said  to  me  after  one  of  his  wild  speeches, 


76         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

"  Young  man,  you  do  not  intend  to  try  to  report  me, 
I  hope."  "  I  shall  try,"  was  the  answer.  "  You  had 
better  not,"  he  responded ;  "  you  might  as  well  try- 
to  report  red-hot  balls  ! "  Mr.  Choate's  speeches 
were  suggestive  of  the  same  glowing  ammunition. 
He  was  the  despair  of  the  cleverest  phonographers. 
He  once,  in  Faneuil  Hall,  quoted  from  "  Othello  "  the 
well-known  words,  "  O  lago,  the  pity  of  it,  lago," 
and  Dr.  Stone,  one  of  the  best  phonographic  report- 
ers in  the  country,  somehow  got  it  down,  "0,  I 
argue  the  pity  of  it,  I  argue,"  and  so  it  was  printed 
to  the  astonishment  of  the  town.  Odd  stories  were 
told  of  Mr.  Choate's  vehemence.  He  was  once  op- 
posing, before  a  legislative  committee,  a  project  for 
giving  the  Boston  and  Providence  Railway  Company 
liberty  to  trespass  upon  that  sacred  spot,  the  Com- 
mon. Mr.  Choate  drew  a  beautiful  picture  of  that 
riis  in  urbe.  "Here,"  he  said,  "when  the  vernal 
breezes  blow,  you  may  now  walk  with  your  wives 
andfchildren,  and  drink  in  all  the  charms  of  reawak- 
ing  Nature.  But  grant  the  prayer  of  the  petition- 
ers, gentlemen,  and  what  will  you  have  ?  The 
scream  of  locomotives,  the  rattle  of  trains,  the  whir 
of  machinery,  —  Stromboli,  Vesuvius,  JEtna,  Coto- 
paxi,  —  hell  itself,  gentlemen  ! "  There  was  a  man 
who  had  skill  enough  to  give  this  in  precisely  Mr. 
Choate's  manner;  and  it  never  failed  to  convulse 
the  company  with  laughter. 

Mr.  Choate  was  the  last  of  the  orators  of  the  florid 
school     There  is  no  lawyer  living  who  would  dare 


to  address  a  jury  in  the  dramatic  way  which  he  af- 
fected. He  piled  epithet  upon  epithet,  and  permit- 
ted himself  a  prodigality  of  adjectives.  He  sacrificed 
everything  for  immediate  impression.  He  appeared 
to  me  to  be  living  always  in  a  fever,  to  be  inces- 
santly eager  for  display,  and  under  the  spell  of  some 
Demosthenean  reminiscence.  If  he  could,  now  and 
then,  have  been  as  solidly  calm  as  his  friend,  Mr. 
Webster,  was,  except  upon  unusual  occasions ;  if  he 
could  just  a  little  have  abated  the  impression  of  im- 
mediate advocacy ;  if  he  could  have  lost  a  part  of 
his  nervous  energy,  and  acquired  more  of  genuine 
muscular  strength ;  if  he  could  have  left  his  Greek 
and  Latin  at  home,  and  carried  into  the  forum  far 
less  of  the  Jesuitical  idea  of  conscience,  —  he  might 
have  been  a  greater,  as  I  am  sure  that  he  would  have 
a  happier,  man. 


78         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCEATS. 

THE  CAMPAIGN  OF  1840.  —  GENERAL  HARRISON  AND  JOHN 
TYLER.  —  MR.  WEBSTER  IN  THE  TYLER  CABINET.  —  CALEB 
CUSHING.  —  FLETCHER  WEBSTER.  —  ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP. 

THE  campaign  of  1840  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  he 
dismissed  with  the  brief  allusion  made  to  it  in 
the  last  chapter.  There  was  never  anything  like  it 
before  in  the  history  of  the  country,  and  probably 
there  will  never  be  anything  like  it  again.  It  is 
customary  to  regard  it  as  an  instance  of  popular  en- 
thusiasm artfully  and  artificially  stimulated;  as  a 
fever  created  and  maintained  by  song  and  show ;  as 
a  delirium  of  drink  (mainly  hard  cider)  and  of  dem- 
agogical speeches.  Though  I  used  to  think  so  my- 
self, I  am  satisfied  that  this  view  of  the  canvass  is 
but  a  superficial  one.  The  same  methods  have  since 
been  resorted  to,  and  have  failed  more  or  less  igno- 
miniously.  They  were  tried  in  a  feeble  way  in  be- 
half of  Henry  Clay  in  1844,  but  again  there  was  a 
melancholy  demonstration  that  the  people  were  will- 
ing to  do  anything  for  that  great  man  but  vote  for 
him.  The  Whig  success  in  1840  is  to  be  attributed, 
I  think,  to  the  feeling,  whether  just  or  unjust,  that 
the  Van  Buren  administration  had  been  utterly  cor- 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      79 

rupt.  The  people  were  weary  of  perpetual  defalca- 
tions, and  of  a  government  carried  on  exclusively  for 
the  benefit  of  party.  They  hoped,  too,  that  a  polit- 
ical change  would  bring  financial  ease ;  and  certainly 
General  Harrison,  who  was  a  good  enough  sort  of  a 
man,  though  by  no  means  a  brilliant  one,  was  in- 
vested with  a  hundred  mythical  merits,  —  he  was  as 
virtuous  as  Cato,  as  great  a  general  as  Julius  Caesar, 
and  as  patriotic  as  George  Washington  or  John  Ad- 
ams; he  was  the  Farmer  of  the  West,  he  was  the 
Hero  of  Tippecanoe.  He  was  glorified  in  song,  he 
was  eulogized  in  speeches ;  his  name  was  emblazoned 
on  a  thousand  banners,  and  his  portrait  carved  on 
the  buttons  and  breastpins  of  a  continually  increas- 
ing majority.  When  he  was  elected,  a  thunderous 
shout  of  exultation  and  gratitude  went  up  to  the 
skies,  because  we  were  to  have  a  man  for  President, 
and  no  longer  a  tricky  and  vulpine  politician.  "  Little 
Van"  was  sent  ignominiously  back  to  the  rural 
shades  of  Kinderhook.  There  never  was  such  a 
victory,  and  there  never  was  a  victory  of  which  the 
fruits  were  such  Dead  Sea  apples.  The  majority 
was  enormous,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  General 
Harrison  was  inaugurated  President  March  4,  1841, 
and  just  one  month  from  that  time  he  lay  dead  in 
the  White  House,  —  all  hopes  blasted,  all  expecta- 
tions disappointed,  all  the  future  of  the  Whig  party 
uncertain!  It  was  a  terrible  blow  to  the  honest 
people  who  had  voted  for  him  conscientiously  and 
hopefully.  The  prostrate  Democratic  party  again 


80         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST, 

lifted  its  head  with  a  feeling  that  there  were  still 
other  triumphs  in  store  for  it,  that  the  emoluments 
of  place  had  not  departed  from  it  forever.  The 
South  had  its  usual  good  fortune ;  and  a  man  was 
seated  in  the  President's  chair  who  was  hereafter  to 
be  and  to  die  a  member  of  the  Confederate  Congress. 
In  1844  Mr.  Calhoun  was  Secretary  of  State,  and 
John  Y.  Mason  was  Secretary  of  the  Navy.  Texas 
was  annexed  March  1,  1845 ;  and  we  then  entered 
upon  a  period  of  our  history  which  the  present  gen- 
eration well  knows  to  have  been  singularly  eventful. 
When  Mr.  Tyler  began  to  demonstrate  that,  though 
elected  as  a  Whig,  he  was,  so  far  as  he  was  anything, 
a  stiff  Virginia  abstractionist,  the  consternation  of 
those  who  had  voted  for  him  bordered  upon  the  lu- 
dicrous. They  began  to  nickname  him  "  His  Acci- 
dency  "  at  once,  and  the  refrain  of  "  Tyler  too  "  came 
back  sarcastically  from  the  Democrats  in  a  somewhat 
insufferable  way.  When  the  Bunker  Hill  monument 
was  dedicated  in  1843,  on  the  anniversary  of  the 
battle,  I  saw  Mr.  Tyler  in  a  barouche  in  the  proces- 
sion. I  had  heard  of  his  nose  often,  and  I  recognized 
him  by  that  feature,  the  proportions  of  which  were 
appropriately  monumental.  In  the  crowd  there  was 
much  pushing  and  elbowing  to  get  a  good  view  of 
the  President.  A  man  behind  me,  when  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  so,  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  anguish, 
"  Good  heavens  !  is  that  the  man  we  worked  so  hard 
to  elect  in  1840  ?"  —  a  remark  which  was  followed 
by  a  great  guffaw  from  the  cro\vd.  Mr.  Tyler,  like 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      81 

Mr.  Johnson  in  a  similar  predicament,  was  without 
any  popular  strength.  He  had  one  or  two  respectable 
men  near  him,  but  he  could  not  make  his  adminis- 
tration respectable.  There  was  gossip  about  the 
White  House  which  even  now  I  should  not  care  to 
repeat.  The  President  had  lost  the  support  of  the 
Whigs,  who  had  formally  repudiated  all  responsibil- 
ity for  his  acts.  The  Democrats  were  willing  enough 
to  take  office  under  him,  but  they  never  gave  him 
any  political  assistance,  and  he  got  along  in  a  hand- 
to-mouth  way  and  as  he  could.  He  picked  up  and 
appointed  to  place  some  very  surprising  characters, 
never  heard  of  before  and  never  heard  of  since.  Col- 
lectors and  postmasters  dropped  down  upon  aston- 
ished localities  which  knew  them  not,  and  did  not 
care  to  know  them.  There  was  a  sour  feeling  every- 
where during  the  whole  four  years.  The  haste  with 
which  the  Texas  negotiation  was  hurried  through 
at  the  very  close  of  the  Tyler  administration  was 
thought  to  be  a  little  indecant.  But  of  all  the  di- 
lemmas, there  was  none  like  the  dilemma  of  the 
Whigs  of  Massachusetts ;  for  Mr.  Webster,  in  spite 
of  the  vetoes,  clung  to  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State 
until  the  spring  of  1843,  though  all  his  colleagues 
went  out  in  the  summer  preceding.  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  was  not  then  that  Mr.  Webster  began  dis- 
tinctly to  lose  his  hold  upon  the  affections  and  the 
respect  of  the  State  which  has  so  honored  him.  He 
still  retained  place  while  his  party  was  definitely  in 
opposition.  In  1842  the  Massachusetts  Whigs  were 

6 


82         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

in  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  needed  all  the  help  of 
their  men  of  name  and  standing.  Mr.  Webster  would 
not  help  them  at  all,  certainly  not  by  resigning ;  and 
when  they  were  badly  beaten  they  were  a  little  out 
of  humor  with  him,  in  spite  of  the  glories  of  the  Ash- 
burton  Treaty.  He  was  very  stubborn ;  there  is  some 
reason  to  believe  that  he  was  selfish,  and  did  not  care 
to  give  up  a  place  which  kept  him  in  the  line  of  suc- 
cession to  the  presidency,  or  at  any  rate  in  the  public 
eye.  Not  long  before  the  State  election  of  1842,  in 
which  the  Whigs  of  Massachusetts  were  defeated, 
Mr.  Webster  made  a  speech  in  Faneuil  Hall,  which 
did  not  please  them.  He  then  and  there  avowed,  in 
his  large  way,  after  stating  his  reasons  for  keeping 
office,  that  he  was  "  a  Whig,  a  Massachusetts  Whig, 
a  Faneuil  Hall  Whig  " ;  then,  almost  taking  an  atti- 
tude of  defiance,  —  morally  it  was  no  less  than  that, 
—  he  said  substantially,  "  If  anybody  proposes  to 
put  me  out  of  the  Whig  party,  let  him  try  it,  and 
we  will  see  which  goos  out  first ! "  This  was  all 
very  grand,  only  it  did  not  alter  the  facts  of  the 
position.  Mr.  Webster  knew  well  that  the  Whigs 
were  in  absolute  opposition  to  the  Tyler  administra- 
tion, of  which  he  was  the  most  respectable  and  im- 
portant member ;  he  knew  that  the  Whig  party  of 
the  State  was  in  great  danger  of  defeat,  partly  in 
consequence  of  the  unpopularity  of  its  position  in  the 
matter  of  the  Dorr  Rebellion  in  Rhode  Island ;  he 
knew  how  much  pain  his  course  was  giving  to  his 
best  friends.  The  people  of  the  State  then  began  to 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      83 

understand  that  there  might  be  wide  differences  of 
opinion  between  themselves  and  their  idol.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  the  end. 

Supported  in  the  main  only  by  a  crowd  of  third- 
rate  men  whose  advocacy  was  fatal,  Mr.  Tyler  had 
in  Caleb  Gushing  an  advocate  of  great  cleverness 
and  undeniable  accomplishments.  This  dextrous 
person  always  found  his  opportunity  in  factions,  and 
never  failed  to  improve  unexpected  chances.  He 
was  upon  friendly  terms,  it  will  be  remembered, 
afterwards,  with  President  Johnson,  under  similar 
circumstances.  He  had  bad  luck  and  good  luck,  as 
such  men  are  apt  to  have,  but  upon  the  whole  he 
managed  to  be  almost  always  in  public  employment, 
and  to  get  along  nearly  as  well  as  if  the  people  had 
believed  in  his  political  honesty,  which  it  must  be 
admitted  they  never  did.  Tylerism  effectually  killed 
almost  every  other  public  man  who  professed  it,  but 
it  did  not  kill  him.  The  accidental  President  nomi- 
nated him  as  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  and  the 
Senate,  of  course,  rejected  him,  whereupon  he  sailed 
away  for  China  as  commissioner,  charged  with  the 
negotiation  of  a  treaty,  and  with  Mr:  Fletcher  Webster 
as  his  secretary  of  legation.  People  always  said  that 
this  son  of  the  great  orator,  who  bore  his  excellent 
mother's  maiden  name,  inherited  an  unusual  share 
of  his  father's  ability,  but  he  was  handicapped  from 
the  start  partly  by  the  paternal  fame,  which  was 
great  enough  to  crush  him,  and  partly  by  certain 
peculiarities  of  character  and  conduct  which  were 


84         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

also  inherited.  Queer  stories  came  from  China  about 
the  American  Commission ;  but  it  is  unnecessary,  and 
it  might  be  considered  in  bad  taste  and  a  violation  of 
the  rule  dc  mortuis,  to  repeat  them  here.  Mr.  Fletcher 
Webster  slipped  easily  into  the  Democratic  party, 
and  the  Democratic  party  put  him  into  a  good  office, 
and  took  better  care  of  him  than  he  was  capable  of 
taking  of  himself.  He  was  a  faithful  follower,  and 
balked  at  nothing  which  the  party  demanded.  When 
the  ruffian  Brooks  nearly  murdered  Charles  Sumner 
on  the  floor  of  the  Senate,  Mr.  Fletcher  Webster  said, 
in  a  speech,  that  if  Mr.  Sumner  "  would  indulge  in 
such  attacks  as  that  which  he  made  upon  Senator 
Butler,  Mr.  Brooks's  uncle,  he  ought  at  least  to  take 
the  precaution  of  wearing  an  iron  pot  on  his  head." 
Colonel  Webster  was  probably  a  little  sorry  for  this 
infamous  remark  when  the  Young  Republicans  of 
Boston  stretched  a  line  across  Hanover  Street,  from 
which  depended  an  iron  pot  with,  over  it,  the  inscrip- 
tion, "  Fletcher  Webster's  Congressional  Hat."  Bos- 
ton, or  the  better  part  of.  it,  sick  of  compromises  and 
of  experimental  Union-saving,  was  then  in  no  mood 
for  such  jests.  Those  who  saw  Charles  Francis  Ad- 
ams in  Quincy,  a  night  or  two  after  that  shameful 
assault,  at  a  meeting  called  to  express  the  public 
opinion  of  it,  would  have  understood  something  of 
the  Revolutionary  wrath  which  boiled  in  his  grand- 
father's veins.  All  the  coldness  of  Mr.  Adams's  na- 
ture was  turned  to  a  red  heat,  and  so  full  was  he  of 
righteous  anger  that  it  could  hardly  be  expressed  in 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      85 

words.  There  were  those  who  said  that  it  was  the 
hatred  of  the  South,  which  was  traditional  in  the 
family ;  but  whatever  it  was,  it  seemed  exceedingly 
natural  and  wholesome  in  those  awakening  days.  I 
saw  old  Josiah  Quincy,  whose  statue  they  have  just 
set  up  in  Boston,  when,  at  the  Eoxbury  line,  that 
venerable  man,  surrounded  by  an  enormous  crowd, 
welcomed  the  outraged  senator  home  after  his  partial 
recovery,  and  told  him  how,  in  1824,  he  had  greeted 
Lafayette  as  the  guest  of  the  municipality  upon  that 
very  spot.  Those  who  marked  the  emotion  with 
which  Mr.  Stunner  was  received  upon  that  day 
might,  without  much  prophetic  inspiration,  have  pre- 
dicted the  stormy  struggle  which  was  not  far  off. 

Mr.  Gushing,  of  whom  it  is  necessary  to  say 
something  more,  was  never  a  popular  man  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, nor  do  I  think  that  he  cared  much  for 
popularity.  He  had  other  arts  than  those  of  the 
demagogue,  which  served  his  purpose  quite  as  well. 
I  ought,  however,  to  say  that  in  Newburyport  he 
was  held  in  great  local  esteem,  and  if  there  be  any 
credit  in  the  steady  attachment  of  one's  neighbors, 
Mr.  Gushing  was  entitled  to  it.  The  town  was 
always  ready  to  send  him  to  the  State  Legislature 
whenever  he  was  ready  to  go  there.  When  it  be- 
came a  city,  as  a  particular  honor,  it  made  him  its 
first  mayor.  Politics,  however,  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this,  nor  with  his  appointment  as  a  judge  of 
the  supreme  court  of  the  State,  —  a  place  which  he 
did  not  hold  long.  His  career  in  Mexico  did  him 


86         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

no  good :  a  single  line  in  James  Russell  Lowell's 
"  Biglow  Papers  "  blasted  all  his  military  laurels. 
The  soldiers  who  served  under  him  did  not  love  him ; 
there  was  talk  of  cruel  and  unusual  punishments, 
and  a  story  of  one  private  who  threatened  a  fierce 
revenge  if  ever  opportunity  should  present  itself. 
There  were  other  scandals,  early  and  late ;  but  the 
man  kept  on,  and  was  always  employed,  particu- 
larly in  difficult  business,  because  he  worked  so 
well.  But  when  he  failed  to  become  chief  justice 
of  the  United  States,  I  am  afraid  that  there  was 
not  much  regret  in  Massachusetts.  It  was  admitted 
that  he  would  have  made  an  able  judge,  but  the 
nomination  was  withdrawn.  The  fact  requires  no 
comment. 

The  conservatism  of  Boston  died  hard,  if,  indeed, 
it  be  altogether  dead  to-day.  Its  representatives 
still  surviving  have  taken  refuge  in  the  Democratic 
party,  in  historical  societies,  and  in  benevolent  cor- 
porations. There  are  among  them  men  whom  it  is 
impossible  not  to  respect,  and  whose  inability  longer 
to  participate  in  public  affairs  is  something  which 
the  public  has  real  reason  to  regret.  I  know  that 
when  the  Republican  party  was  in  the  process  of 
formation  in  Massachusetts,  it  was  thought  to  be 
exceedingly  desirable  that  the  adhesion  of  certain 
gentlemen  of  deserved  eminence  should  be  secured ; 
and  that  every  effort  consistent  with  self-respect 
was  made  to  secure  it.  They  had  their  chance  then, 
and  if,  either  from  prejudice  or  lingering  personal 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      87 

animosities,  they  failed  to  improve  it,  the  Repub- 
lican leaders  were  not  to  blame.  Mr.  Henry  Wilson 
was  a  man  who  unquestionably  expected  and  in- 
tended to  have  his  full  share  of  what  are  unpleas- 
antly called  "  the  spoils  " ;  and  when  he  had  set  his 
heart  upon  anything,  he  usually  obtained  it  sooner 
or  later,  for  his  persistency  was  great  as  well  as  his 
natural  capacity  for  public  affairs.  I  never  thought 
him  to  be  a  particularly  scrupulous,  but  I  always 
considered  him  a  fair  man,  whose  word  usually 
required  few  grains  of  allowance ;  and  I  have  heard 
him  twenty  times  regret  that  certain  distinguished 
members  of  the  old  Whig  party  would  not  accept 
the  situation  and  take  the  place  to  which  their 
talents  and  private  character  entitled  them  in  the 
councils  of  the  new  party.  Principle  apart,  he 
thought  they  were  losing  great  chances,  as  indu- 
bitably they  were.  In  old  times,  Mr.  Wilson  had 
been  associated  with  them  in  politics  as  a  Whig ; 
he  had  fought  with  them  many  a  hard  battle,  won 
or  lost ;  and  he  did  not  love  the  Massachusetts 
Democrats  at  all,  often  as  he  consented  to  coalesce 
with  them.  Once  when  there  was  a  conference  of 
Liberal  Whigs,  who  saw  plainly  enough  that  the 
days  of  Whiggery  were  over,  and  who  were  anxious 
that  there  should  be  a  party  embodying  the  new 
opinions  and  equal  to  the  new  occasions,  a  highly 
respectable  gentleman,  whom  it  is  unnecessary  to 
name,  said,  "  I  should  like  to  see  Mr.  Henry  Wilson, 
and  talk  with  him  about  this  matter."  I  do  not 


88         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

know  why,  but  it  was  then  generally  thought  that 
nothing  could  be  effected  without  the  co-operation 
of  this  same  highly  respectable  gentleman ;  and  hap- 
pening to  know  where  Mr.  Wilson  could  at  that 
moment  be  found,  I  took  the  liberty  of  going  after 
him,  and  of  persuading  him  to  join  the  company. 
But  nothing  came  of  it.  Mr.  Wilson  talked  in  a 
large,  free  way,  which  gave  me  a  deep  and  abiding 
impression  of  his  tact  and  good  judgment;  and  the 
other  gentleman  (of  respectability)  said  in  reply 
that  he  should  like  to  have  "  some  evidence  of  the 
repentance  of  Mr.  Wilson  and  his  associates."  After 
that  there  was  not  much  to  be  profitably  said,  but 
I  did  venture  to  ask  if  it  was  expected  that  the  old 
Conscience  Whigs  would  stand  in  sheets  at  the 
church-door,  candle  in  hand,  and  say,  "We  have 
erred  and  strayed  like  lost  sheep."  Because  I  fur- 
ther modestly  suggested  if  such  were  the  condition 
of  a  union  of  the  Conscience  with  the  Compromise 
Whigs  that  the  day  of  such  a  cordial  reconciliation 
was  probably  far  distant. 

Mr.  Eobert  C.  Winthrop  was  among  those  Whig 
gentlemen  whose  co-operation  in  the  formation  of 
the  Republican  party  was  eagerly  desired.  He  had 
been  the  idol  of  the  young  Whigs  of  Massachusetts ; 
he  was  a  man  of  fine  abilities ;  he  was  of  ancient 
family ;  his  political  talents  were  of  the  first  order, 
if  only  he  could  have  been  persuaded  to  give  them 
a  chance ;  he  had  been  Speaker  of  the  State  and  of 
the  National  House  of  Representatives ;  his  man- 


WHIGS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  DEMOCRATS.      89 

ners  were  excellent ;  his  character  was  unspotted. 
He  does  not  think  so  even  now,  but  I  am  persuaded 
that  if  he  had  followed  the  Liberal  Whigs  of  Massa- 
chusetts, upon  the  breaking  up  of  parties,  there  was 
no  place,  however  high,  to  which  he  might  not  have 
been  honorably  called.  When  I  last  saw  him,  years 
ago,  he  was  good  enough  to  regret  that  our  political 
paths  had  diverged ;  and  he  was  also  kind  enough 
to  express  the  hope  that  in  time  we  might  be  to- 
gether again,  he  of  course,  as  I  well  understood,  in 
his  higher  place,  and  I  in  my  own.  When  Mr. 
Sumner  was  assaulted,  everybody  said,  "  This  is 
Mr.  Winthrop's  opportunity."  He  was  asked  to 
preside  over  the  meeting  to  be  held  immediately  in 
Faneuil  Hall  to  express  the  sympathy  and  indigna- 
tion of  the  people,  and  he  declined  to  do  so,  after 
considerable  importunity,  though  it  was  no  greater 
than  the  occasion  demanded.  I  thought  then  that 
he  was  losing  the  best  chance  of  his  life,  and  I  have 
not  changed  my  opinion.  Had  he  acceded  to  that 
request,  made  with  affectionate  earnestness,  his 
public  career,  begun  so  brilliantly,  would  hardly 
have  ended  so  soon,  and  so  greatly  to  the  regret  of 
those  who  respected  arid  admired  him.* 

*  Mr.  Robert  C.  "Winthrop,  upon  reading  this  passage  as  origi- 
nally published,  was  kind  enough  to  assure  me,  by  a  personal 
letter,  that  he  was  not  invited  to  preside  at  the  Sumner  meeting 
in  1856.  I  am  anxious  to  fall  into  no  historical  misreport ;  and 
my  own  memory  against  Mr.  Winthrop's  positive  statement 
should,  of  course,  go  for  nothing.  My  impression  in  writing  was 
that  Mr.  Justice  Sanger  saw  Mr.  "Winthrop ;  and  although  he 


90         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

may  not  have  asked  him  to  preside  at  the  meeting,  did  ask  him 
to  participate  in  its  proceedings.  I  am  sure  of  the  feeling  that, we 
all  experienced,  as  we  were  gathered  together  in  the  office  of  my 
late  friend,  Colonel  Ezra  Lincoln.  There  was  a  desire  that  Mr. 
Winthrop  should  be  present  at  the  meeting  ;  and  that  desire  was 
painfully  disappointed.  I  can  only  regret  that  his  physical  in- 
firmities should  have  called  him  at  that  important  moment  from 
Boston,  and  I  still  think  that  he  lost  his  opportunity. 


UNIVERSITY  DAYS.  91 


CHAPTER  VII. 

UNIVERSITY  DAYS. 

AN  EPISODE  OF  STUDENT  LIFE. —  DR.  FRANCIS  WAYLAND. — 
THE  OLD  CURRICULUM.  —  DR.  HORATIO  B.  HACKETT  — PRO- 
FESSOR ROMEO  ELTON.  —  GOVERNOR  WILLIAM  GASTON.  — 
MR.  JUSTICE  BRADLEY.  —  THE  OLD  FAMILIAR  FACES.  — 
COLLEGE  MANNERS  THEN  AND  NOW. 

PUBLIC  affairs  are,  of  course,  of  the  first  impor- 
tance. In  several  chapters  I  have  naturally 
dwelt  upon  them,  and  upon  what  I  remembered  of 
public  men.  In  deference  to  those  who  care  little 
or  nothing  for  such  things,  a  return,  breaking  some- 
what the  monotony  of  gossip,  may  be  made  to  books 
and  to  teachers.  Mr.  Peter  Bayle,  in  the  chrono- 
logical history  of  his  life,  notes,  under  a  certain  date, 
"  This  day  I  began  the  study  of  Greek."  I  well 
remember  the  day  upon  which  I  did  the  same 
thing,  self-complacently  roaming  about,  "Delectus" 
in  hand,  and  tormenting  everybody  with  the  alpha- 
bet, until  there  was  discharged  at  me  the  following 
quartrain :  — 

"  As  I  my  daily  lesson  sung, 

Repeating  Alpha,  Beta,  Gamma,  Delta, 
The  woman,  ignorant  of  the  Grecian  tongue, 

Mistook  for  At  her  !  beat  her  !  d her  !>pelt  her ! " 

After  that  I  was  less  troublesome.     I  am  told  that 


92         REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

the  examination  of  those  in  quest  of  matriculation  is 
now  severer  than  it  once  was ;  but  our  boys  can  hardly 
crawl  to  the  ordeal  with  darker  forebodings,  and  with 
less  of  morning  in  their  faces,  than  we  did.  Dear 
little  Dr.  Choules  trots  up  College  Street,  in  Provi- 
dence, at  the  head  of  a  string  of  us,  all  his  particular 
young  friends,  as  he  takes  care  to  inform  the  author- 
ities of  Brown  University,  from  the  smallest  tutor  to 
the  great  president,  Dr.  Francis  Wayland,  whom 

"  Ccelo  tonantem  credidimus  lovem  regnare." 

It  seems  to  be  a  particularly  hard  matter  at  pres- 
ent to  maintain  the  discipline  and  to  preserve  the 
good  order  of  colleges.  Dr.  Waylaud  never  had  the 
least  difficulty.  He  was  disobeyed  with  fear  and 
trembling,  and  the  boldest  did  not  care  to  encounter 
his  frown.  He  was  majestic  in  manner,  and  could 
assume,  if  he  pleased,  a  Ehadamanthine  severity. 
It  was  a  calamity  to  be  called  into  that  awful  pres- 
ence ;  and  no  student,  of  whatever  character,  ever 
made  the  least  pretence  of  not  being  frightened  at 
the  summons.  Such  bravado  nobody  would  have 
believed  in  :  he  who  indulged  in  it  would  have  been 
laughed  at.  However  loosely  our  tongues  might 
wag,  we  thoroughly  respected  and  even  reverenced 
the  president ;  and  upon  public  occasions,  when  he 
put  on  his  academic  gown  and  cap,  we  were  rather 
proud  of  his  imposing  appearance.  We  told  each 
other,  over  and  over  again,  how  many  times  he  re- 
wrote the  great  sermon  on  "  The  Mor.al  Dignity  of 


UNIVERSITY  DA  YS.  93 

the  Missionary  Enterprise,"  before  he  could  bring 
it  to  a  perfection  which  satisfied  his  rigid  taste 
and  judgment.  The  more  enthusiastic  questioned 
whether  Eobert  Hall  achieved  anything  finer.  Fresh- 
men believed  in  his  book  on  Political  Economy, 
and  seniors  did  his  treatise  on  Moral  Philosophy  the 
honor  of  refuting  several  of  its  more  important  prop- 
ositions. There  were  traditions  of  the  frightful  state 
in  which  he  found  the  university  upon  assuming 
its  government,  after  the  anarchy  of  Dr.  Messer's 
time,  and  of  the  vigor  with  which  he  reduced  it 
to  order  and  studious  diligence.  If  he  had  less  of 
the  suaviter  in  modo  than  of  the  fortiter  in  re,  I 
am  not  sure  that  there  was  any  reason  to  regret  the 
deficiency,  for  he  had  to  deal  with  thoughtless  young 
people,  who  were  none  the  worse  for  feeling  the 
heavy  hand  of  a  master.  There  were  those  who 
thought  his  firmness  akin  to  obstinacy ;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  he  was  a  man  of  profound  con- 
victions, of  fastidious  conscience,  and  of  opinions  not 
lazily  arrived  at.  His  temper  every  one  knew  to  be 
naturally  hot  and  high,  but  nobody  could  know  how 
severely  it  was  tried,  or  what  efforts  he  made  to 
control  it.  In  his  later  days,  I  have  been  told,  after 
his  resignation,  he  exhibited  marked  urbanity  and 
sweetness  of  disposition.  Certainly  there  were  small 
traces  of  either  when  any  undergraduate  was  de- 
tected in  an  act  of  meanness,  or  a  flagrant  violation 
of  the  university  statutes.  He  had  a  heavy  foot 
for  a  student's  door  when  it  was  not  promptly  op- 


94         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

ened  after  his  official  knock.  Once,  when  we  were 
bent  upon  illuminating  the  college  in  honor  of  some 
festive  occasion,  and  contrary  to  his  express  injunc- 
tions, he  exhibited  his  abilities  in  this  way  most 
effectually.  "  JEqiio  pulsat  pede"  we  quoted  from 
Horace  as  we  fled  from  his  wrath,  and  saw  one  row 
of  lights  extinguished  after  another.  We  were  in 
great  fear  of  suspension  or  of  expulsion  for  some 
days  after.  To  tell  the  truth,  some  of  us,  with  rea- 
son enough,  were  usually  in  a  state  of  apprehension. 
One  young  gentleman,  whose  conscience  was  espe- 
cially cowardly  that  morning,  was  paralyzed  as  he 
was  crossing  the  campus,  by  hearing  his  name  called 
in  Boanergesian  style.  Heavens  !  it  was  the  Doc- 
tor who  was  beckoning  to  him  !  He  thought  hur- 
riedly of  all  his  misdemeanors  of  the  week  just  past : 
for  which  of  them  was  he  now  to  be  brought  to 
judgment  ?  What  was  his  astonishment,  his  exqui- 
site sense  of  relief,  when  the  president  merely  said, 

"  C ,  have  you  a  chew  of  tobacco  to  spare  ? " 

For  the  Doctor  was  a  shameless  consumer  of  the 
Indian  weed ;  and  some  intricate  speculation  in  phil- 
osophy or  theology  had  been  brought  to  a  sudden 
standstill  by  an  untimely  vacuum  in  the  Doctor's 
box. 

One  scans  with  a  kind  of  awe  the  marvellously 
miscellaneous  curriculum  which  modern  ideas  of 
liberal  education  have  introduced  into  our  American 
colleges.  The  young  Bachelors  must  know  a  little 
of  a  great  many  things.  In  my  time  it  was  Greek, 


UNIVERSITY  DAYS.  95 

Latin,  and  mathematics,  and  mathematics,  Latin,  and 
Greek,  for  the  first  two  years  at  least,  unless  the  su- 
perficial instruction  in  rhetoric  and  elocution  is  to 
be  taken  into  account.  But  the  limited  course,  which 
is  now  held  in  such  small  esteem,  was  far  from  con- 
temptible in  its  results.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say 
that  the  men  forget  their  Greek  and  Latin,  or  find 
neither  of  much  use  in  the  practical  business  of  after 
life.  The  grammar  and  vocabulary,  they  may  forget, 
but  the  taste,  the  literary  sense,  the  critical  judgment 
which,  other  things  being  equal,  follow  early  classical 
training,  are  seldom  lost.  One  who  has  been  nur- 
tured when  young  upon  such  diet  rarely  degenerates 
into  a  mere  Philistine.  In  Dr.  Horatio  B.  Hackett 
we  had  a  classical  teacher  of  distinguished  abilities 
and  accomplishments.  He  may  not  have  known  as 
much  Latin  as  Gottlob  Heyne,  nor  as  much  Greek 
as  Dr.  Porson,  but  he  had  quite  enough  of  both  for 
our  young  stomachs,  especially  when  the  recitation 
was  before  breakfast.  I  used  to  think  him  a  man 
of  the  sixteenth  century.  He  should  have  been 
employed  in  that  kind  of  mastodonian  annotation 
which  swelled  the  spare  remains  of  Velleius  Pater- 
culus  into  a  chubby  quarto  of  a  thousand  pages. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  altogether  our  fault  if  we  could 
not  relish  the  discussion  of  a  disputed  reading  of 
Livy  or  of  Tacitus  as  he  relished  it.  But  I  still  think 
with  admiration  and  regret,  now  that  I  am  just  a 
trifle  wiser,  of  the  innocent  arts  by  which  this  eru- 
dite teacher  sought  to  beguile  us  into  loving  these 


96          REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

old  books  as  well  as  he  did.     He  would  bring  a 
speech  made  by  Edmund  Burke  into  the  lecture- 
room,  and  read  to  us  some  passage  containing  an  apt 
and  elegant  quotation  from  Horace,  with  the  sugges- 
tion that  if  we  should  ever  become  members  of  Con- 
gress we  might  captivate  the  House  and  the  country 
after  a  fashion  equally  felicitous.     Alas !  he  little 
knew  what  Congresses  were  coming  to !     He  lived 
for  learning,  but  he  conscientiously  gave  all  his  great 
acquisitions  to  the  cause  of  sound  Christian  knowl- 
edge.    As  he  was  accuracy  itself,  he  occupied  a  high 
position  among  the  American  revisers  of  the  English 
Bible,  and  I  suppose  that  he  went  on  toiling  to  the 
last.     His  class-room  was  like  a  gymnasium.     He 
made  us  commit  the  odes  of  Horace  to  memory,  not 
altogether  that  we  might  quote  from  them  in  Con- 
gress, he  beamed  upon  us  benignly  through  his  spec- 
tacles as  we  indulged  in  the  invigorating  exercise  of 
capping  Latin  verses,  and  he  gave  us  an  analysis  of 
the  Ars  Poetica  to  be  committed  to  memory  which 
would  have  delighted  Dr.  Kurd,  and  was  proved  to 
be  longer,  by  actual  computation,  than  the  Ars  Po- 
etica itself !     As  a  poor  atonement  for  much  wayward 
negligence,  I  give  him  a  place  in  these  humble  pages, 
which  his  memory  is  far  from  needing,  and  which  is 
accorded  for  my  satisfaction  alone. 

We  had  another  Professor  of  the  Greek  and  Latin 
languages  in  the  Eev.  Romeo  Elton,  S.  T.  D.  It  was 
without  any  accurate  prescience  of  his  future  propor- 
tions that  his  parents  gave  to  him  the  name  of  the 


UNIVERSITY  DA  YS.  97 

elegant  young  lover  of  Verona,  for  he  was  a  little, 
round  man,  of  a  presence  by  no  means  romantic.  He 
was  a  special  friend,  and  had  been  a  classmate  of 
Mr.  Job  Durfee,  who  wrote  a  moderate  epic  called 
"  Whatcheer,"  which  celebrated,  I  believe,  the  foun- 
dation of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island,  and  which  the 
bard  dedicated  to  his  "  dear  Elton."  No  great  Ovid 
was  lost  in  the  Rhode  Island  Murray.  Curiously 
enough,  in  looking  over,  the  other  day,  the  Life  of 
John  Foster,  the  great  English  Baptist,  I  encoun- 
tered Professor  Elton,  Judge  Durfee,  and  "What- 
cheer." Foster's  attention  had  been  called  to  the 
poem  by  Professor  Elton,  who  wanted  his  friend's 
book  handsomely  noticed  in  some  English  review  to 
which  Foster  contributed.  I  believe  that  he  did 
write  a  good-natured  critique  of  it,  but  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  it.  It  is  impossible  now  to  say  by 
what  concatenation  it  happened,  but  the  irreverent 
undergraduates  of  a  bygone  period  had  bestowed 
upon  the  sesquipedalian  professor  the  name  of 
"  Bump,"  and  though  he  was  exceedingly  popular, 
he  was  seldom  called  anything  else.  Whether  he 
was  a  strong  classical  scholar  or  not  we  never  could 
find  out,  for  he  was  so  absurdly  good-natured  and 
so  punctiliously  polite  and  of  such  confirmed  mau- 
vaise  honte  withal,  that  we  did  much  as  we  pleased 
in  his  class-room.  It  was  upon  the  ground-floor, 
and  when  the  exercises  became  dull,  and  the  win- 
dows were  open,  the  students  occasionally  jumped 
through  them  after  roll-call  and  went  away.  They 
7 


98         REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

were  not  missed  by  the  good  doctor,  who  would  prob- 
ably be  engaged  at  the  time  of  the  exits  in  a  bland 
illustration  of  the  Iter  BrundvAium  or  some  other 
part  of  Horace,  drawn  from  his  personal  observation 
when  abroad.  It  was  averred  and  generally  believed 
that  he  had  told  every  Sophomore  class  since  1825 
how,  when  he  was  at  Gottiugen,  he  slept  between 
two  feather-beds.  This  was  an  adventure  the  recital 
of  which  always  caused  him  to  cross  his  short  legs 
rapidly  in  token  of  satisfaction,  and  successive  classes 
waited  for  the  narration  with  impatience.  He  was, 
however,  what  college  professors  sometimes  are  not, 
—  he  was  a  perfectly  well-bred  man,  and  if  he  was 
ready  to  take  the  word  of  the  boys  without  question 
or  cross-question,  the  more  graceless  was  it  in  them 
to  tell  him  falsehoods.  When  he  did  duty  at  even- 
ing prayers,  he  always  remembered  "  the  soldier,  the 
sailor,  and  the  slave."  This  appeared  to  be  a  formula 
which  he  had  fixed  upon  as  both  comprehensive  and 
euphonious ;  so  he  adhered  to  it,  and  I  do  not  know 
that  he  could  have  done  better.  There  was  a  rule 
of  the  college  that  every  dormitory  should  be  visited 
by  some  member  of  the  Faculty  during  study  hours, 
to  make  sure  that  the  boys  were  at  their  books. 
This  was  one  of  Dr.  "Wayland's  early  notions  of  dis- 
cipline ;  I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  immoral  and 
semi-military  custom  was  long  ago  abandoned  in 
Brown  University.  I  am  obliged  to  add  that  one  of 
the  professors  and  most  of  the  young  tutors  took 
kindly  to  the  espionage,  and  visited  the  rooms  as- 


UNIVERSITY  DA  YS.  99 

signed  to  them  with  punctilious  regularity.  Those 
students,  however,  who  lodged  in  the  division  of 
Hope  College  assigned  to  the  Eev.  Komeo  Elton, 
S.  T.  D.,  had  a  good  time  of  it.  He  always  looked 
in  at  the  door  with  a  blush,  as  if  he  were  making  an 
unwarrantable  intrusion  upon  domestic  privacy,  and 
he  valorously  broke  the  rule  by  calling  seldom.  I 
think  that  his  plan  was  never  to  make  a  domiciliary 
visit  oftener  than  twice  a  week,  and  curiously  enough 
he  always  made  it  at  the  same  hour  and  upon  the 
same  days;  and  always  found  his  grateful  young 
gentlemen  at  home. 

Ours  was  not  a  class  particularly  remarkable  for 
scholarship,  or,  indeed,  for  anything.  We  have  given 
to  the  republic  two  United  States  Senators,  Governor 
Arnold  of  Rhode  Island,  and  General  John  Milton 
Thayer,  of  Nebraska.  We  gave  Kalamazoo  College 
a  president  (Dr.  Brooks),  and  the  University  of  Mich- 
igan a  Professor  of  Latin,  Dr.  Frieze.  This,  with  sev- 
eral able  lawyers  and  preachers,  is  all,  I  believe,  we 
have  to  brag  of.  I  hear  of  the  other  men  now  and 
then,  but  not  with  any  accompanying  flourish  of 
trumpets.  One  reads  in  the  lottery  schemes  of  ap- 
proximation prizes ;  and  perhaps  the  class  of  1841 
may  be  permitted  to  boast  of  Mr.  William  Gaston, 
who  was  in  the  class  above  it,  and  who  has  since 
been  a  governor  of  Massachusetts,  and  what  is  more 
remarkable,  a  Democratic  governor  of  that  Republi- 
can State.  I  remember  him  faintly,  for  I  did  not 
know  him  very  well,  as  a  sweet-tempered,  courteous, 


100       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

and  sufficiently  studious  youth,  who  was  never  in 
scrapes,  but  of  comfortably  even  tenor.  I  antici- 
pated that  he  would  make  as  good  a  governor  as  a 
Democrat  could  possibly  be,  nor  was  I  disappointed. 
In  the  class  of  1838  was  Mr.  Justice  Bradley,  of 
Ehode  Island,  the  first  scholar,  I  think,  of  his  year, 
of  whom  we  did  predict  great  things.  There  is  some- 
thing pleasant  in  the  loyal  way  in  which  lads  in  col- 
lege recognize  an  associate  of  superior  ability  and 
special  promise.  How  proud  they  are  of  him,  and 
how  fond  they  are  of  talking  of  him  as  the  greatest 
genius  in  the  world !  So  we  all  talked  of  Bradley. 
When  he  was  to  speak  in  the  chapel  after  evening 
prayers,  how  irreverently  eager  we  were  for  the  de- 
votions to  be  over,  that  we  might  listen  to  our  favor- 
ite !  There  were  other  clever  fellows,  of  course,  but 
none  so  clever  as  he.  He  handled  all  topics,  philo- 
sophical, political,  and  literary,  with  such  force  and 
ease  that  we  held  the  matter  hardly  second  to  the 
manner,  though  the  manner  was  as  nearly  perfect  as 
any  elocution  could  be ;  yet  there  were  doubters  who 
thought  that  George  Van  Ness  Lathrop,  now  an  emi- 
nent lawyer  of  Michigan,  was,  if  possible,  the  greater 
man.  Of  the  comparative  merits  of  these  two,  the 
discussions  ran  high,  but  there  was  no  discussion  of 
the  rival  claims  of  anybody  else.  Sometimes  —  it 
is  merely  a  whim  —  I  wish  that  I  could  hear  those 
evening  speeches  over  again,  and  I  permit  myself  to 
wonder  whether  they  were  really  admirable  as  we 
thought  them.  It  was  so  long  ago  that  I  cannot 
make  up  my  mind. 


UNIVERSITY  DA  YS.  101 

I  have  spoken  of  several  of  my  old  companions 
who  have  won  merited  distinction.  Shall  I  not  give 
a  word  to  those  who  have  faltered  and  fallen  by  the 
wayside,  the  journey  hardly  half  accomplished,  the 
work  less  than  half  done  ?  Surely  I  may  here  pay 
my  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one  of  whom  the  world 
never  heard,  but  who  was  once  all  the  world  to  me ; 
who  for  two  years  was  my  daily  and  nightly  com- 
panion ;  with  whom  I  read  and  talked,  and  shared 
the  pleasures  and  the  pains  of  those  early  days. 
How  should  I  anticipate  that  this,  my  laughing  room- 
mate, would  fall  into  dire  religious  distractions,  and 
seek  safety  in  the  asceticisms  of  the  rule  of  the 
Trappists  ?  But  those  were  times  of  Tractarianisrn, 
of  Puseyism,  of  strange  reaction  from  the  negatives 
of  Protestantism ;  and  when  bishops  shot  from  their 
great  spheres,  how  was  this  poor  boy  to  keep  in  his 
own  ?  It  was  little  to  me  when  Dr.  Newman  and 
Dr.  Orestes  A.  Brownson  passed  definitely  to  Kome ; 
but  it  was  much  when  my  old  college  friend  went 
away  from  me,  and  I  knew  that  I  should  see  his 
face  no  more  forever. 

When  a  man  is  writing  or  talking  about  his  col- 
lege life,  he  is  expected,  I  hardly  know  for  what 
reason,  to  dwell  upon  the  least  reputable  parts  of  it. 
Almost  everybody  seems  to  hear  with  relish  of  the 
president's  horse  shaved,  of  the  chapel-bell  deprived 
of  its  tongue,  of  the  cow  introduced  into  the  pulpit, 
of  assafcetida  placed  upon  the 'tutor's  stove,  of  inso- 
lent jokes  cracked  at  the  expense  of  men  renowned 


102      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

for  learning  and  piety,  of  windows  broken,  and  of 
homesick  freshmen  made  needlessly  miserable  by 
coarse  intrusion  upon  their  privacy  or  by  cruel  pro- 
fanation of  their  persons.  We  had  enough  and  more 
than  enough  of  these  senseless  diversions,  and  suffi- 
ciently tormented  those  who  had  us  in  charge,  or 
who  received  in  sorrow  official  intelligence  of  our 
misdemeanors ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  the  students 
of  that  time  were  hard-hearted  or  heartless,  and  I 
do  think  that  there  has  been  a  change  in  more  than 
one  institution  of  learning  for  the  worse.  Perhaps 
we  were  fortunate  in  the  circumstance  that,  whatever 
our  disorderly  exploits,  nobody  thought  of  putting 
them  into  the  public  journals.  The  insubordination 
of  some  colleges  has  now  become  a  staple  article  of 
news,  and  those  who  disturb  their  studious  quiet 
appear  to  be  bolder  and  more  reckless  than  we  were. 
A  reminiscent  may  note  this  change ;  fortunately  for 
himself,  he  is  not  required  to  suggest  a  remedy.  At 
any  rate,  we  did  not  indulge  in  manslaughter  in  those 
unsophisticated  days. 


THE   GREAT  DORR   WAR.  103 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  GREAT  DORR  WAR. 

STATE  OF  AFFAIRS  PREVIOUS  TO  THE  REBELLION".  —  THE  ORI- 
GIN OF  THE  PEOPLE'S  CONSTITUTION.  —  DR.  JOHN  A.  BROWN. 

—  "  GOVERNOR  "  DORR.  —  THE  OLD    RHODE    ISLAND  BAR. 

—  GENERAL  THOMAS    F.   CARPENTER.  — INTERFERENCE  OF 
DEMOCRATIC  GOVERNORS. 

THE  episodes  of  history  are  seldom  fully  and  ac- 
curately recorded ;  yet  in  history,  rightly  con- 
sidered, there  is  no  episode.  The  Rhode  Island 
Rebellion  made  a  great  noise  at  the  time,  as  Kansas 
matters  and  the  anarchies  of  ill-reconstructed  South- 
ern States,  and  the  more  recent  troubles  in  Maine 
have  since :  yet  there  is  hardly  anybody  left  com- 
petent to  write  a  full  and  fair  account  of  events 
which  engaged  the  serious  attention  of  the  General 
Government  and  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States.  I  certainly  am  not,  for  I  have  forgotten 
much  :  I  have  no  opportunity  of  consulting  author- 
ities ;  and  that  which  I  remember  is  the  picturesque, 
the  personal,  the  amusing,  rather  than  dates  and  the 
drier  details.  I  knew  more  of  the  beginning  of  the 
business  than  of  the  end  :  I  had  no  sympathy  with 
its  later  phases.  The  general  fact  that  up  to  1843 
the  State  of  Rhode  Island  was  without  a  Constitu- 
tion will  strike  those  who  have  the  usual  faith  in 


104      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

such  paper  safeguards  with  an  astonishment  border- 
ing upon  incredulity.  But  for  two  features  of  the 
Charter  which  were  hardly  democratic,  the  little 
State  might  have  gone  on  pleasantly  and  prosper- 
ously for  another  century,  under  that  rag  of  royalty. 
In  the  nineteenth  century,  given  as  it  is  to  much 
voting,  in  the  United  States,  which  are  trying  on 
a  large  scale  the  experiment  of  a  nearly  absolute 
democracy,  restrictions  of  the  suffrage  will  always 
be  sure  to  make  many  spirits  uneasy ;  and  in  Ehode 
Island  the  suffrage  was  restricted  to  land-owners 
and  to  their  eldest  sons.  It  was  an  odd  bit  of  feud- 
alism, —  a  singular  conservation  of  one  of  the  rights 
of  primogeniture.  Again,  the  legislative  represen- 
tation, which  had  been  fixed  by  the  Charter  in 
1663,  had  become  singularly  unequal  and  arbitrary. 
It  was,  indeed,  one  of  rotten  boroughs.  Providence, 
with  over  20,000  inhabitants  iu  1840,  had  only  four 
representatives,  while  Newport,  with  less  than  10,000 
inhabitants,  had  six  representatives.  Towns  having 
altogether  only  29,000  inhabitants  and  about  3,000 
voters  elected  thirty-eight  representatives,  while  but 
thirty-four  were  chosen  by  towns  having  nearly 
80,000  inhabitants  and  nearly  6,000  voters.  The 
reader  will  bear  with  this  somewhat  numerical 
statement  of  the  facts,  because  some  understanding 
of  them  is  necessary  to  a  full  comprehension  of  the 
situation.  There  \vas  anomaly  and  inequality  enough 
to  make  those  who  wanted  to  vote  restless  and  even 
angry.  There  was  an  excellent  opportunity  for 


THE   GREAT  DORR    WAR.  105 

demagogues,  and  they  improved  it.  The  supreme 
authority  of  the  State  was  in  the  Legislature,  and 
what  the  composition  of  the  Legislature  was,  I  have 
already  shown.  Men  in  possession  of  political 
power  are  rarely  inclined  to  abandon  it :  the  Assem- 
bly, therefore,  did  really  postpone  a  necessary  reform 
and  cling  to  an  untimely  system  longer  than  was 
wise  or  prudent.  The  disfranchised  petitioned, — 
it  was  all  they  could  do ;  and  their  petitions  were 
not  always  treated  as  judiciously  as  they  should 
have  been.  Once  they  were  referred  to  a  committee, 
which  reported  against  them  in  what  I  still  consider 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  pieces  of  the  kind  which 
has  ever  fallen  under  my  notice.  It  was  written 
by  Benjamin  Hazard;  a  hard-headed  old  lawyer,  with 
a  bottomless  contempt  for  political  innovations,  and 
was  such  an  essay  as  an  English  Tory  of  the  Eldou 
stamp  might  have  fulminated  against  the  Reform 
Bill.  It  demonstrated  by  the  best  of  legal  logic 
that  popular  suffrage  would  be  undesirable,  and  it 
offered  to  the  popular  notions  of  democracy  a  per- 
fect clievauix-de-frise  of  special  pleading,  of  replica- 
tion, rejoinder,  and  rebutter.  It  was  one  of  those 
arguments  which  one  may  feel  to  be  all  wrong  and 
yet  find  it  difficult  to  refute ;  and  when,  long  after, 
I  was  asked  to  write  an  answer  to  it,  I  found  the- 
task  anything  but  an  easy  one,  and  did  the  job 
badly.  There  were  many  stories  told  at  bar  dinners 
and  suppers  of  Mr.  Hazard's  dogmatic  and  pertina- 
cious ways.  One  of  the  drollest  was  of  his  rencon- 


106       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

tre  with  an  antagonist  for  once  too  much  for  him. 
He  had  left  a  convivial  party  on  a  dark  night,  and 
was  found  soon  after  arguing  with  the  town  pump. 
"  Get  out  of  my  way  ! "  said  he.  "  Move  on ! "  he 
reiterated.  "What  do  you  mean  by  this  disreputable 
conduct  ? "  Still  the  pump  held  its  position,  when 
the  irate  lawyer  roared,  "Get  out  of  my  way,  in 
the  name  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island  and  Provi- 
dence Plantations  ! "  The  pump  was  proof  against 
even*  this,  and  his  companions  coming  up,  it  was 
found  necessary  to  lead  him  gently  to  his  domicile. 
The  year  1840  was  one  of  great  political  activity 
everywhere,  and  the  contest  in  Ehode  Island  was  a 
particularly  lively  one.  People  who  could  not  vote, 
more  than  ever  envied  those  who  could.  In  a  des- 
perate minority,  the  Democrats  were  anxious  for  a 
good  cry.  But  the  movement  which  was  to  grow  to 
such  considerable  proportions  had  a  personal  and 
somewhat  insignificant  beginning.  There  was  a  Dr. 
John  A.  Brown,  a  botanical  physician,  who  supplied 
the  people  of  Providence  with  root-beer  of  a  pleasant 
and  salutiferous  quality.  Brown's  beer  was  in  de- 
mand, and,  being  of  a  foamy  and  effervescent  sort,  it 
may  have  had  something  to  do  with  the  ebullitions 
which  followed.  At  any  rate,  when  not  engaged  in 
building  up  the  constitutions  of  his  patients,  the 
doctor  was  painfully  sensible  that  the  ancient  State 
had  no  Constitution  of  its  own,  —  a  deficiency  which, 
both  as  a  patriot  and  a  practitioner,  he  ceased  not  to 
lament.  He  determined  to  start  a  free-suffrage  agi- 


THE   GREAT  DORR    WAR.  107 

tation :  secondly,  he  resolved  to  emit  a  free-suffrage 
newspaper ;  and,  thirdly,  he  employed  me  to  edit  it. 
He  might  have  done  much  better  if  he  had  been  able 
to  offer  a  little  higher  wages ;  for  I  engaged  to  con- 
vulse Khode  Island  (with  the  Plantations  thrown  in) 
for  the  modest  remuneration  of  five  dollars  per  week. 
I  trust  that  no  reader  will  be  reminded  of  the  anecdote 
of  the  negro  minister,  who,  when  told  that  his  salary 
was  "  pretty  poor  pay,"  answered,  "  Yes,  and  pretty 
poor  preachee,  too,  sar."  A  name  was  wanted  for 
the  journal,  and  I  suggested  '•  The  New  Age  "  as  ex- 
pressive and  appropriate,  particularly  as  we  proposed 
to  abolish  the  work  of  an  age  which  might  be  con- 
sidered an  old  one.  So  the  first  number  of  the  news- 
paper was  issued  from  a  little  office  which  had  just 
about  type  enough  to  set  up  a  single  edition.  For 
some  time  the  public  paid  but  limited  attention  to 
our  denunciations  of  Charles  II.  and  his  musty  old 
charter ;  but  Dr.  Brown  was  not  in  the  least  discour- 
aged, and  I  am  sure  that  I  was  not.  I  feel  that 
whoever  read  my  long  dissertations  upon  the  nature 
and  origin  of  government,  is,  at  this  moment,  if  liv- 
ing, entitled  to  my  most  abject  apologies.  The  doc- 
tor, I  knew,  was  delighted ;  for  the  beer  business 
was,  in  two  senses,  lively,  and  he  could  afford  even 
the  expensive  luxury  of  printing  a  newspaper  with- 
out subscribers  or  purchasers.  He  was  an  extremely 
good-natured  man ;  and  the  town  in  Delaware,  to 
which  he  removed  after  the  troubles,  made  him  a 
member  of  the  Legislature. 


108      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

Concession  came.  As  early  as  January,  1841,  the 
General  Assembly  had  called  a  convention  to  frame 
a  Constitution.  This  was  not  the  way,  however,  in 
which  the  Rhode  Island  Suffrage  Association  pro- 
posed to  reform,  the  State,  and  when -the  legal  Con- 
stitution was  sent  to  the  people  for  sanction,  the 
suffrage  men  helped  to  vote  it  down.  Going  back 
to  first  principles,  and  actually  assuming  that  the 
State  was  without  a  government,  they  held  a  con- 
vention of  their  own,  and  got  through  with  their 
work  and  had  their  Constitution  ready  for  the  people 
while  the  authorized  body  was  still  in  session.  There 
was  no  pretence  of  legality,  in  the  ordinary  sense  of 
the  word,  in  their  doings.  It  was  simply  revolution. 
In  April,  1842,  the  governor  of  Rhode  Island  had 
appealed  to  President  Tyler  for  Federal  assistance 
against  insurrection;  and  I  think  about  the  best 
public  document  which  Mr.  Tyler  ever  sent  forth, 
whoever  may  have  written  it,  was  the  reply  in  which 
he  assured  the  governor  of  support  and  protection. 
The  suffrage  men  assumed  that  their  Constitution 
had  been  adopted,  and  began  to  organize  military 
companies  to  defend  it.  The  days  of  trouble  were 
close  at  hand. 

The  leading  spirit  of  the  suffrage  movement  from 
this  time  forward  was  Thomas  Wilson  Dorr,  a  Provi- 
dence lawyer  of  good  family,  of  fair  ability,  a  man  of 
boundless  obstinacy,  which  his  admirers  called  firm- 
ness. He  had  the  reputation  in  Providence  of  an 
excellent  hater,  and  of  being  influenced  in  the  course 


THE   GREAT  DORR    WAR.  109 

which  he  pursued  by  what  he  considered  to  be  per- 
sonal injuries.  In  strict  historical  justice  it  must  be 
said  that  the  plan  upon  which  the  suffrage  men  pro- 
ceeded was  not  his  own.  It  was  devised  and  deter- 
mined upon  in  the  office  of  "  The  New  Age  "  some 
time  before  Mr.  Dorr  had  anything  whatever  to  do 
with  the  project.  At  first  he  was  disinclined  to  lend 
his  name  to  the  enterprise,  and  he  underwent  a  good 
deal  of  importunity  before  he  could  be  induced  to 
reverse  his  decision.  I  was  once  deputed  to  ask  him 
to  make  a  public  address,  or  to  write  a  letter,  or  in 
some  other  way  to  commit  himself.  He  was  a  slow 
man,  apparently  though  not  really  phlegmatic ;  but 
he  answered  me  promptly.  He  said  that  upon  sev- 
eral occasions  he  had  labored  for  an  extension  of  the 
suffrage,  that  he  had  never  been  properly  supported 
by  those  who  should  have  been  swiftest  in  doing  so, 
and  that  he  must  respectfully  decline  all  invitations 
to  participate  in  the  proposed  agitation.  As  he  said 
this,  he  calmly  smoked  his  cigar,  looking,  I  must  say, 
as  little  like  an  incendiary  and  revolutionist  as  any 
man  whom  I  have  ever  encountered.  He  yielded 
afterwards,  and,  curiously  enough,  he  had  bitter  rea- 
son to  repeat  the  same  complaint  of  inadequate  sup- 
port. He  organized  his  government  in  Providence 
on  the  3d  of  May,  1842,  issued  proclamations,  sent 
a  regular  message  to  his  Legislature,  which  met  in  a 
foundry,  and  from  that  time  forth  was  called  the 
Foundry  Legislature.  The  members  voted  divers 
sums  of  money,  especially  for  their  own  per  diem 


110       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

and  mileage,  but  they  did  not  run  the  risk  of  levying 
taxes,  —  a  measure  which  might  have  been  regarded 
with  disfavor  by  their  constituents.  "Governor" 
Dorr  —  "  Kightful  Governor  "  as  his  followers  styled 
him  —  then  went  away  to  show  himself  to  his  sym- 
pathizers in  New  York,  where  for  a  while  he  was  a' 
great  favorite  with  the  men  of  the  Pewter  Mug.  He 
came  back  upon  the  16th  of  May,  girt  with  a  sword 
and  breathing  most  belligerently.  I  saw  him  draw 
the  weapon  and  wave  it  in  defiance  of  the  general 
and  State  governments,  then  and  there  swearing  to 
die  rather  than  yield.  I  also  saw  him,  still  wearing 
the  sword  and  surrounded  by  armed  men,  drawn 
through  the  streets  of  Providence  in  a  barouche. 
The  last  time  I  ever  saw  him  was  at  his  headquar- 
ters, the  house  of  Burrington  Anthony,  and  I  can  bear 
testimony  to  the  fact  that  he  was  then  as  dauntless 
as  ever.  He  was,  however,  in  a  desperate  situation, 
—  his  State  officers  resigning,  his  family  imploring 
him  to  abandon  his  schemes,  all  his  most  respectable 
followers  turning  against  him.  He  marched  that 
night  upon  the  arsenal,  but  his  own  men  had  spiked 
his  guns,  of  which  he  had  six.  These  he  himself  tried 
to  discharge.  Had  he  succeeded,  he,  with  a  good 
many  of  those  about  him,  might  have  been  dead  im- 
mediately after.  A  murderous  discharge  of  grape 
would  have  saved  the  government  all  the  trouble 
which  afterward  occurred.  There  would  have  been 
no  subsequent  invasion  of  the  State,  nor  would  its 
military  annals  have  contained  the  short  but  decisive 


THE   GREAT  DORR    WAR.  Ill 

campaign  of  Chepatchet.  Governor  Dorr  came  back 
again  in  the  last  days  of  June  with  a  motley  follow- 
ing, but  before  the  first  day  of  July  he  had  fled  again, 
with  his  Spartan  band,  after  issuing  a  general  order 
dismissing  his  troops  upon  the  ground  that  the  Suf- 
frage party  no  longer  adhered  to  "  the  People's  Con- 
stitution." So  ended  the  Dorr  war.  Mr.  Greeley, 
who  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  approve  a 
needlessly  restricted  suffrage,  summed  up  the  whole 
matter  in  an  excellent  Tribune  article,  in  which  he 
argued  that  every  proper  concession  had  been  made 
by  the  landholders,  and  that  the  charter  remained  in 
force  only  because  the  suffrage  men  voted  down  the 
legal  Constitution.  I  have  before  me  an  old  letter 
written  by  Governor  L.  H.  Arnold,  borrowed  from  the 
rich  autograph  collection  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Gordon 
L.  Ford,  in  which  the  governor  says,  "  It  is  due  to 
every  principle  of  justice  and  humanity  that  Dorr 
should  be  punished,  and  may  God  grant  us  success 
in  our  attempts  to  arrest  him."  He  was  arrested, 
tried,  convicted,  and  sentenced  to  imprisonment ;  the 
"Kightful  Governor"  was  put  to  the  business  of 
painting  fans ;  he  was  soon  released  under  an  act  of 
amnesty,  but  died  not  long  after  his  enlargement. 
He  had  not  been  a  great  while  in  the  State  Prison 
before  the  folly  of  keeping  him  there  was  apparent : 
the  number  of  voters  who  legally  should  have  been 
with  him  was  too  great. 

It  is  curious  that  stern  and  stormy  political  dis- 
cussion should  always  be  provocative  not  merely  of 


112       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

satire  but  of  fun.  This  was  true  of  the  great  French 
Revolution ;  it  is  also  true  of  the  little  Dorr  war. 
There  was  no  important  discharge  of  musketry,  but 
there  was  an  endless  fusillade  of  squibs.  The  law- 
yers of  College  Street  were  "  law  and  order  "  almost 
to  a  man ;  I  believe  that  the  efforts  of  several  of 
them  went  to  the  production  of  "  The  Great  Slocum 
Dinner,"  a  brochure  reprinted  afterwards  by  Messrs. 
Sidney  S.  Eider  and  Brothers,  of  Providence.  This 
house  also  reprinted  "  The  Dorriad,"  a  clever  satire. 
In  the  former  work  I  find  rather  a  kindly  allusion  to 
my  old  master  in  the  law,  General  Thomas  F.  Car- 
penter, a  man  of  many  merits  and  of  many  foibles, 
—  a  stately,  kind-hearted,  old-fashioned  gentleman, 
of  that  polished  sort  which  in  this  day  of  careless 
manners  is  not  often  met  with.  Without  being  elo- 
quent, he  had  a  taking  way  with  the  juries,  which 
won  him  many  difficult  cases  about  which  he  was 
never  weary  of  talking.  Never  was  there  such  a 
man  for  fighting  his  battles  over  again.  His  stu- 
dents, being  always  conveniently  present,  were  the 
most  favored  recipients  of  his  recollections.  He  had 
a  natural  tendency  to  exaggeration  ;  there  was  some- 
thing of  rich  idealism  in  his  talk  which  saved  it 
from  any  imputation  of  boasting.  He  defied  a  young 
lady  who  was  breakfasting  with  him  to  guess  of 
what  metal  the  coffee-pot  was  made.  If  she  had 
been  a  clever  girl  she  would  have  guessed  the  uten- 
sil to  be  of  silver,  and  her  conjecture  would  have 
been  received  without  comment;  but  being  of  a 


THE   GREAT  DORR    WAR.  113 

frank,  laughing  character,  she  guessed  "  tin."  "  Ah ! 
Miss,"  said  the  general,  "  that  is  the  mistake  which 
all  my  guests  make.  The  coffee-pot  is  of  platina,  a 
metal  more  precious  than  gold."  He  was  a  Demo- 
crat, through  and  through,  and  he  once  informed  us, 
with  great  gravity  that  he  expected  to  be  obliged  to 
lay  down  his  life  before  the  election  of  1840  was 
over,  and  that  he  should  attend  the  next  Democratic 
Convention  "armed,  gentlemen,  armed."  He  would 
take  his  stand  in  front  of  the  bookcase  and  lecture 
us  about  the  volumes  which  it  contained.  "  Here," 
for  instance,  he  said  one  day,  pointing  to  a  civil  law- 
book  about  contracts,  "  here  is  a  work  which  I  never 
permit  a  month  to  go  by  without  reading."  Unfor- 
tunately, he  took  it  down,  and  in  doing  so  covered 
himself  with  dust.  It  had  not  been  off  the  shelf  for 
Heaven  knows  how  long.  He  had  been  a  general 
of  militia  long  before,  and  his  exploits  upon  the 
muster-field  furnished  an  endless  series  of  narratives. 
Once,  when  a  regiment  was  marching  by,  he  expressed 
great  contempt  for  the  outfit  of  the  commanding  offi- 
cer. "  My  bridle,"  he  said,  "  was  worth  all  his  accou- 
trements put  together."  So  he  went  on  talking  and 
we  went  on  laughing  through  those  merry  hours. 
Darker  ones  came  to  him,  and  to  all  of  us.  During 
the  Eebellion  the  general  got  into  trouble,  and  was 
arrested,  —  an  indignity  which  might  have  killed 
him,  and  which  he  never  forgave.  It  was,  perhaps, 
an  unnecessary  piece  of  severity ;  but  men  in  author- 
ity in  those  days  were  not  always  wise. 

8 


114      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

The  Providence  bar  was  then  a  very  able  one,  as 
it  may  be  now.  There  was  Samuel  Y.  Atwell,  John 
Whipple,  Samuel  Ames,  —  but  I  need  not  continue 
the  catalogue,  which  would  have  but  little  interest 
for  the  general  reader.  It  is  a  melancholy  consider- 
ation that  the  fame  of  lawyers  is  seldom  of  a  pro- 
longed character,  and  every  bar  has  its  magnates  of 
whom  the  world  outside  has  not  heard  much.  Who 
was  it  said,  "  Lawyers  work  hard,  live  well,  and  die 
poor  "  ?  Their  eloquence  is  unreported ;  the  record 
of  their  intellectual  labor  is  in  professional  books 
which  have  only  professional  readers ;  their  wit,  of 
which  they  have  so  much,  is  unrecorded,  and  floats 
about  in  the  welter  of  tradition,  now  attributed  to 
this  man,  now  to  that.  I  do  not  remember  who  it 
was  said  the  sharp  thing  which  I  am  about  to  repeat. 
There  was  a  Providence  lawyer  of  prodigious  prolix- 
ity, and  once  he  gave  the  jury  the  benefit  of  his  as- 
tronomical knowledge  in  a  drawling  tone,  something 
after  this  fashion :  "  We  are  informed  —  gentlemen 
of  the  jury  —  that  there  are  —  planets  so  far  distant 
from  the  earth  —  that  though  their  light  —  has  been 
travelling  —  ever  since  the  creation  —  it  has  not  yet 

reached  us."  "  Probably  will,  Brother  C ,  before 

you  get  through,"  said  the  acknowledged  wag  of  the 
bar.  See  what  fame  is !  I  have  forgotten  his  name. 

In  conclusion,  I  may  point  out  what  I  consider 
to  be  the  moral  of  the  Dorr  Eebellion.  Its  history 
should  serve  as  a  perpetual  warning  against  inter- 
meddling. If  the  Democrats  of  other  States  had 


THE   GREAT  DORR   WAR.  115 

left  Ehode  Island  to  herself, — if  Governor  Morton,  of 
Massachusetts,  Governor  Hubbard,  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, Governor  Cleveland,  of  Connecticut,  —  if  the 
leading  Democrats  of  New- York  City  had  permitted 
the  people  of  Ehode  Island  to  settle  their  own  dis- 
putes, there  would  have  been  no  serious  trouble. 
The  People's  Constitution  was  never  fairly  adopted 
by  a  majority  of  the  people.  Whatever  deficiency 
was  anticipated  was  supplied  by  proxy  votes,  cast 
by  the  managers  of  the  movement,  in  the  name  of 
the  dead,  the  absent,  and  the  non-existent  anywhere. 
But,  upon  the  whole,  there  is  ground  for  encourage- 
ment in  the  safe  deliverance  out  of  all  their  trials 
which  Providence  vouchsafes  to  our  endangered 
States.  After  such  perils  and  such  victory  of  order 
in  Ehode  Island,  in  Kansas,  in  Maine,  in  so  many 
Southern  States,  who  can  doubt  the  recuperative 
and  salient  force  of  our  democracy,  and  the  strength 
of  governments  at  once  popular  and  intelligent  ? 


116       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

LITERARY  MEMORIES. 

LITERARY  CHARACTERISTICS.  — THE  TRANSCENDENTAL  PERIOD. 
—  INFLUENCE  OF  CARLYLE.  —  MARGARET  FULLER.  —  SARAH 
HELEN  WHITMAN.  —  HENRY  GILES.  —  LITERARY  REMUNER- 
ATION. 

I  MAKE  little  attempt  to  proceed  in  strict  chro- 
nological sequence ;  and  perhaps  the  reader  will 
be  kind  enough  to  consider  it  all  as  scarce  more  for- 
mal than  a  rambling  conversation,  —  a  monologue 
lacking  the  convenient  suggestions  and  stimulus  of  a 
real  table-talk,  —  a  mensal  chat,  the  guests  sightless, 
and  the  master  of  the  humble  feast  merely  a  solilo- 
quizer, —  though  there  are  ghosts  enough,  Heaven 
knows,  at  the  board.  As  early  as  1837,  there  be- 
gan a  peculiar  period  of  intellectual  activity,  —  the 
era  of  what  is  called,  though  not  with  much  scien-' 
tine  accuracy,  transcendentalism.  The  influence  of 
Thomas  Carlyle  upon  American  letters  was  felt 
about  that  time,  particularly  in  our  colleges,  and  the 
name  of  that  venerable  man  is  often  conjoined  with 
Mr.  Emerson's,  though  the  two  have  hardly  a  liter- 
ary or  intellectual  trait  in  common,  unless  that  of 
writing  unconventional  English  may  be  so  consid- 
ered. There  was  a  Carlyle  mania  in  our  college, 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  117 

which  resulted  in  the  production  of  what  I  am 
afraid  was  sad  nonsense.  "We  all  went  through 
what  may  be  regarded  as  a  storm-and-stress  period. 
Some  of  us  manufactured  bad  poetry,  and  some  of 
us  equally  bad  prose :  we  talked  of  "  shams  "  and 
"  wind-bags  " ;  and  the  more  incomprehensible  they 
were,  the  profounder  we  considered  our  productions 
to  be.  Yet  I  am  even  now  inclined  to  think  that 
there  was  a  genuine  earnestness  at  the  bottom  of  it 
all.  It  was  a  sprawling,  awkward,  hobble-de-hoy 
effort  to  be  manly ;  and  at  least  it  was  more  whole- 
some than  the  Byronic  fever,  which  just  before  that 
had  so  sorely  tried  the  constitutions  of  American 
youth,  and  the  patience  of  their  natural  guardians. 
Our  efforts  to  write  like  Carlyle  drove  the  Professor 
of  Ehetoric  nearly  frantic ;  but  a  little  intercourse 
with  the  actual  soon  knocked  the  nonsense  out  of 
us,  and  we  returned  to  our  respect  for  Murray's 
Grammar  and  for  the  style  of  Addison  and  Mac- 
aulay,  having  discovered  that  an  affectation  of  sin- 
cerity is  no  better  than  a  satanic  affectation  of 
falsehood. 

All  the  pretence  of  supernatural  instincts  and  of 
God-inspired  intuitions,  was  not  confined  to  the 
college.  Providence  had  town-folk  who  wrote  poe- 
try as  bad  as  ours,  and  two  or  three  who  wrote  more 
rationally  than  we  did.  The  main  point  was  to  be 
unintelligible.  The  more  nearly  we  justified  the  mot 
that  "  language  was  given  to  conceal  our  thoughts," 
the  more  successful  we  considered  ourselves  to  be. 


118       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

It  is  easy  to  see  what  happened  when  a  young  per- 
son of  no  special  natural  ability  and  of  small  and 
fragmentary  culture  talked  according  to  his  own 
notion,  as  Novalis  wrote.  Margaret  Fuller  (not  yet 
a  marchioness,  but  a  school-mistress)  lived  then  and 
pursued  her  noble  calling  nobly  in  Providence.  I 
saw  her  sometimes  in  company  and  heard  her  talk, 
—  it  would  be  hardly  proper  to  say  converse,  for 
nobody  else  said  much  when  she  was  in  the  Delphic 
mood.  The  centre  of  a  circle  of  rapt  and  devoted 
admirers,  she  improvised  not  merely  pamphlets,  but 
thick  octavos  and  quartos.  Such  an  astonishing 
stream  of  language  never  came  from  any  other  wo- 
man's mouth.  "  She  brought  with  her,"  said  Mr. 
Emerson,  "  wit,  anecdotes,  love-stories,  tragedies,  ora- 
cles." She  did  not  argue.  I  think  she  had  a  way 
of  treating  dissentients  with  a  crisp  contempt  which 
was  distinctly  feminine.  She  had  no  taste  for  dia- 
lectics, as  she  took  care  to  inform  those  who  did 
not  agree  with  her.  She  considered  her  own  opinion 
to  be  conclusive,  and  a  little  resented  any  attempt 
to  change  it.  Yet  there  was  something  eminently 
elevated  in  her  demeanor,  for  it  was  that  of  a  woman 
swaying  all  around  her,  not  by  fascinating  manner, 
nor  yet  by  personal  beauty,  of  which  she  had  none, 
but  through  the  sheer  force  of  a  royal  intellect. 
There  were  peculiarities  in  her  ways  and  carriage 
which  were  not  agreeable,  —  a  fashion  of  moving 
her  neck,  and  of  looking  at  her  shoulders  as  if  she 
admired  them ;  and  her  voice  was  not  euphonious. 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  119 

Mr.  Emerson  says  that  personally  she  repelled  him 
upon  first  acquaintance ;  but  I  was  so  astonished 
and  spell-bound  by  her  eloquence,  by  such  discourse 
as  I  had  never  before  heard  from  a  woman,  and  have 
never  heard  from  a  woman  since,  that  I  sat  in  si- 
lence, and,  if  my  ears  had  been  fifty  instead  of  two, 
I  should  have  found  an  excellent  use  for  them.  I 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  I  comprehended  all  that 
she  said  ;  I  had  not  read  the  philosophers  and  poets 
of  Germany  as  she  had :  but  simply  to  listen  was 
enough,  without  cheap  understanding.  Something 
like  this  fascination  must  have  been  exercised  by 
Coleridge  over  the  listeners  who  gathered  about  him 
at  Highgate,  and  went  away  charmed  but  puzzled, 
—  delighted  they  knew  not  why.  Was  it  a  pleas- 
ure analogous  to  that  of  music,  —  a  suggestion  too 
delicate  for  analysis  ? 

While  writing  for  "  The  Tribune,"  Miss  Fuller  was, 
for  a  while,  a  member  of  Mr.  Horace  Greeley's  fam- 
ily, and  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  table-talk 
of  these  peculiar  persons  must  have  been  at  once  in- 
structive and  amusing,  —  instructive,  I  mean,  in  mat- 
ter, and  amusing  in  manner.  Each  was  dogmatic 
and  opinionative,  and  neither  inclined  to  admit  error 
or  mistake.  Each  held  personal  convictions  in  high 
reverence,  but  Miss  Fuller  was  especially  disposed 
to  resent  any  interference  with  her  own  methods  of 
thought  and  action.  I  believe  that  Mr.  Greeley  has 
himself  put  upon  record  that  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  agree  with  his  guest  about  diet,  and  especially 


120       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

about  tea,  of  which  the  lady  was  fond.  He  was 
wont  to  attribute  her  breakfast  headaches  to  a  con- 
sumption over  night  of  that  noxious  beverage ;  but 
as  he  tells  us  amusingly,  she  soon  let  him  know  un- 
mistakably that  no  discussion  of  her  tastes  would  be 
tolerated ;  and  he  was  too  gentlemanly  to  say  a  word 
even  of  the  deleterious  effects  of  tea  after  that. 

There  was  a  habit  once,  which  fortunately  is  not 
now  so  common,  of  comparing  our  American  repu- 
tations with  old  staple  fames.  This  poet  was  like 
Wordsworth  ;  Mr.  Emerson,  I  believe,  was  the  Ameri- 
can Montaigne ;  Miss  Fuller  was  the  American  De 
Stae'l ;  Mr.  Poe  was  the  American  Hoffmann.  This 
prattle  was  especially  silly  when  it  was  about  Miss 
Fuller,  who  was  no  more  like  De  Stae'l  than  she  was 
like  Bettina,  with  whom  I  have  also  heard  her  par- 
alleled. Schiller  wrote  to  Goethe  of  the  brilliant 
Frenchwoman,  "  She  insists  upon  explaining  every- 
thing." I  am  sure  that  Miss  Margaret  did  not  at- 
tempt to  explain  anything,  for  that  would  have  been 
a  condescension  to  which  she  was  not  prone.  Schil- 
ler speaks  also  of  De  Stael's  "  horror  of  the  Ideal 
Philosophy,  which  she  thinks  leads  to  the  mysteri- 
ous and  superstitious  "  :  there  was  no  likeness  there, 
nor  was  the  American  lady,  like  the  French,  "pas- 
sionate and  rhetorical."  If  I  remember  rightly,  she 
was  calm  in  her  speech,  though  occasionally  swift ; 
but  she  had  a  talent  for  summing  up  concisely,  as 
when  she  said  of  Goethe,  "  I  think  he  had  the  art- 
ist's hand  and  the  artist's  eye,  but  not  the  artist's 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  121 

love  of  structure."  This  compactness  sometimes  be- 
came almost  comical,  as  when,  in  "  The  Dial,"  she 
dismissed  Mr.  Longfellow's  latest  work  with  only 
the  remark,  "  This  is  the  thinnest  of  all  Mr.  Long- 
fellow's thin  volumes,"  which  was  hardly  kind  and 
scarcely  critical.  It  is  remarkable  that  this  note- 
worthy woman's  fame  has  already  become  tradi- 
tional ;  she  is  remembered  as  a  voluble  talker,  but 
much  is  not  said  of  her  books.  She  had  colloquial 
habits  of  composition,  and  was  rather  a  careless 
writer.  The  work  upon  which  she  had  bestowed  the 
greatest  pains  was  lost  with  her  in  the  remorseless 
sea;  her  literary  contributions  to  "The  Tribune" 
were  not  of  permanent  value.  It  was  her  task  to 
deal  mainly  with  the  temporary  and  evanescent,  and 
to  be  obliged  to  toil  too  much  from  day  to  day ;  but 
always,  in  American  literature,  she  will  remain  a  re- 
markable biographic  phenomenon,  while  the  tragic 
death  of  this  Lycidas  of  women,  a  most  painful  per- 
sonal story  of  shipwreck,  was  intensified  by  so  many 
melancholy  incidents  that  whoever,  long  years  hence, 
may  read  of  them,  will  wonder  how  the  gods  could 
have  been  so  pitiless,  and  why  the  life  of  new  hap- 
piness and  of  larger  intellectual  achievement  which 
was  before  her  should  so  suddenly  have  ended  upon 
that  savage  and  inhospitable  shore. 

The  best  literary  people  at  that  time  in  Provi- 
dence were  always  to  be  met  at  the  agreeable  house 
of  Miss  Annie  C.  Lynch  (now  Mrs.  Botta),  who  has, 
during  her  residence  in  New  York,  been  equally 


122       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

hospitable,  and  equally  fortunate  in  her  hospitality. 
It  was  there  that  I  met  the  late  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen 
Whitman,  a  woman  of  special  and  various  literary 
abilities,  a  poet  of  such  originality  that  she  should 
be  better  known,  and  a  writer  capable  of  strong  and 
excellent  work,  as  her  contributions  to  Brownson's 
"  Quarterly  Eeview"  testified.  If  this  were  the  place 
for  definite  literary  criticism  I  should  be  tempted  to 
express  somewhat  more  largely  my  estimate  of  the 
peculiar  and  delicate  beauty  of  many  of  Mrs.  Whit- 
man's poems.  Her  eye  for  the  charms  of  nature  was 
almost  painfully  acute,  and,  I  might  say,  microscopic ; 
so  that  I  heard  one  of  her  friends  say  that  it  was 
nearly  a  pain  to  walk  with  her,  since  she  expected 
him  to  share  in  such  a  perpetual  and  minute  obser- 
vation. Not  a  tint  of  the  sky,  the  meadow,  the 
river,  the  wood,  escaped  her ;  no  flower  was  too  small 
to  be  seen  by  her ;  and  all  her  glances,  like  those  of 
Thoreau,  were  discoveries.  There  had  been  peculiar 
and  deep  sorrow  in  her  early  life ;  then  succeeded  a 
period  of  calm  culture  and  of  comparative  happiness ; 
then  darker  days  of  disappointment.  It  is  not  a  se- 
cret, I  believe,  that  she  was  betrothed  to  Poe,  and  that 
he  behaved  in  the  affair  with  his  usual  insane  selfish- 
ness. If  a  marriage  was  contemplated,  as  I  suppose 
it  was,  it  was  well  and  wise  to  give  it  up,  for  no  hap- 
piness could  have  come  of  it  to  either.  She  remained, 
however,  steadfast  in  her  affection  for  that  unfortu- 
nate man  of  genius.  To  speak  well  of  him  was  an 
instant  passport  to  her  friendship  and  good  offices. 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  123 

Once,  when  I  had  printed  a  critical  estimate  of  Mr. 
Poe's  genius  and  writings,  I  was  gratified  by  receiv- 
ing from  her  a  letter  in  which  she  thanked  me  for 
what  she  was  pleased  to  regard  as  some  service  to 
his  fame  and  some  vindication  of  his  character.  Cu- 
riously enough,  she  insisted  in  this  letter  upon  Poe's 
goodness  of  heart  and  unselfish  disposition,  which 
were  points  upon  which  I  was  inclined  to  disagree 
with  her.  Of  his  cleverness  and  wonderful  literary 
dexterity  she  could  not  think  more  highly  than  I 
did.  One  of  her  finest  poems  was  inspired  by  the 
poet's  death.  It  is  entitled  "  Eesurgam,"  and  will  be 
found  in  her  "Hours  of  Life." 

I  think  it  was  in  Providence  that  I  first  met  Mr. 
Henry  Giles,  and  made  that  acquaintance  which  af- 
terward deepened  into  a  permanent  and  delightful 
friendship.  He  still  lives,  though  ill  health  has  sus- 
pended his  literary  activity.  By  birth  an  Irishman, 
he  had  won  a  high  position  in  England  as  a  Unita- 
rian preacher,  was  the  personal  friend  of  James  Mar- 
tineau,  and  was  regarded  by  the  connection  as  one 
of  its  ablest  controversialists.  He  came  to  America 
in  1840,  and  though  he  continued  occasionally  to 
preach,  he  was  best  known  throughout  the  country 
as  a  popular  lecturer.  I  never  knew  what  Irish  elo- 
quence was  until  I  heard  Mr.  Giles ;  only  then  did 
I  begin  to  understand  how  Curran  and  Grattan  and 
Phillips  and  O'Connell  could  so  move  the  mercurial 
children  of  the  Emerald  Isle.  Here  was  brilliancy 
without  vulgarity  or  ridiculous  excess ;  warmth  with- 


124      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

out  extravagance ;  a  rapid  imagination  still  kept  well 
in  hand ;  a  rhetoric  without  superabundance.  Apart 
from  his  noble  head  and  musical  voice,  Mr.  Giles 
had  small  personal  advantages  as  an  orator,  for  his 
figure  was  diminutive,  and  had  lost  its  symmetry 
through  an  accident  in  infancy.  But  if  these  draw- 
backs had  been  much  greater  than  they  were,  they 
would  have  been  utterly  forgotten  by  his  audiences. 
He  could  provoke  to  laughter,  he  could  move  to 
tears;  when  he  dwelt  upon  the  wrongs  of  Ireland 
he  made  us  all,  in  pity  and  indignation,  forget  its 
follies.  Those  who  heard  him  for  the  first  time  ex- 
pected nothing  when  he  arose,  and  everything  before 
he  had  concluded.  He  had,  like  all  his  countrymen, 
a  great  love  of  good  stories,  and  nobody  could  tell 
them  better.  His  fund  of  anecdote  was  inexhausti- 
ble, so  that  when  he  reviewed  Dean  Ramsay's  book 
on  Scotch  humor,  I  think  in  "  The  Christian  Exam- 
iner," he  made  it  a  point,  whenever  he  quoted  one  of 
the  Dean's  stories,  to  supplement  it  by  one  of  his 
own.  But,  admirable  as  Mr.  Giles  was  as  a  lecturer, 
preacher,  and  essayist,  it  was  as  a  talker  that  he  was 
supreme.  It  is  impossible  to  compute  out  of  how 
many  hours'  sleep  he  has  pleasantly  cheated  me. 
His  writings,  fine  as  they  are,  give  no  idea  of  his 
humor,  pathos,  and  learning;  and  what,  after  all, 
were  these  to  his  genial  nature  and  superabundant 
generosity  ?  With  the  careless  humanity  of  his 
country,  he  would  give  away  whatever  was  in  his 
pocket,  and  if  he  were  asked  for  them,  his  coat  and 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  125 

his  cloak  also.  Chronic  Jeremy  Diddlers,  whose 
only  recommendation  was  their  brogue,  waylaid  him 
and  despoiled  him,  to  the  great  distress  and  indig- 
nation of  his  excellent  Yankee  wife.  Finally  it 
was  thought  best  that  she  should  keep  the  money. 
Pitiful  were  his  appeals  for  a  small  sum  while  a 
sturdy  swindler  from  County  Wexford,  or  other 
Irish  county,  was  waiting  at  the  street-door.  Usu- 
ally it  was  known  to  everybody  in  the  house, 
except  Mr.  Giles,  that  he  had  called  upon  the  same 
errand  several  times  before,  —  always  hailing  from  a 
different  county,  —  and  was  likely  to  call  several 
times  again.  But  the  persistent  kindness  of  the 
benevolent  man  generally  carried  the  day  and  sent 
the  tramp  away  rejoicing.  My  friend  was  like  Oli- 
ver Goldsmith  in  his  utter  want  of  sharp  worldly 
wisdom.  His  wife  would  point  to  his  handsome  and 
quite  extensive  library,  and  tell  you,  with  honest 
pride,  that  before  he  married  he  never  kept  a  book. 
He  was  so  genial  and  generous,  and  so  full  of  sym- 
pathy with  the  sorrows  of  others,  that  he  should 
never  have  known  any  of  his  own ;  but  they  came 
to  him  heavy  and  not  a  few  in  number.  He  broke 
down  utterly  while  delivering  one  of  a  course  of  lec- 
tures at  the  Lowell  Institute  in  Boston ;  deep  and 
tragic  bereavement  followed ;  many  griefs  fell  to  his 
lot  which  he  might  well  have  been  spared :  but  so 
long  as  he  lives  he  will  be  loved,  and  deserves  to  be. 
The  mention  of  a  man  of  genius  who  lived  by  his 
pen  reminds  me  of  the  great  and  remarkable  changes 


126       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

•which  have  taken  place  in  my  own  time  in  the  mat- 
ter of  literary  remuneration.  Fifty  years  ago,  in  this 
country,  apart  from  the  money  paid  to  preachers,  and 
perhaps  the  writers  of  school-books,  there  was  no 
such  thing.  I  should  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
Bryant  received  any  pecuniary  compensation  what- 
ever for  "  Thanatopsis,"  which  was  published  in  "  The 
North  American  Eeview  "  in  1817.  The  only  Amer- 
ican poet  of  that  early  period  who  was  well  paid  was 
Kobert  Treat  Paine,  Jr.,  who  received  eleven  dollars 
a  line  for  his  celebrated  song  of  "  Adams  and  Lib- 
erty," and  liberal  profits  from  several  other  poems. 
But  Paine  had  a  great  many  family  and  other  friends 
in  Boston  and  the  neighborhood,  and  was  personally 
and  locally  popular.  Out  of  Boston,  in  1820, 1  ques- 
tion if  any  Massachusetts  editor  received  so  much  as 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year;  for  most  writing  in  news- 
papers was  done  by  lawyers  and  other  men  of  educa- 
tion as  a  labor  of  love  or  of  political  fealty.  The  first 
magazines  paid  nobody,  and  much  later  there  were 
respectable  periodicals  which  never  ran  the  risk  of 
hurting  a  young  writer's  pride  by  offering  him  sordid 
wages.  It  was  honor  enough  to  be  printed,  and  only 
a  little  money  was  paid  to  distinguished  contributors 
whose  names  advertised  the  magazine.  The  lyceum, 
then  most  economically  managed,  seldom  gave  more 
than  twenty  dollars  for  a  lecture,  many  of  them  gave 
even  less ;  I  remember,  and  have  reason  to  remem- 
ber, an  instance  in  which  only  ten  dollars  were  paid 
for  a  lecture  on  Shakespeare,  which,  however,  was 


LITERARY  MEMORIES.  127 

considerably  more  than  it  was  worth.  I  believe  that 
Godey  and  Graham,  the  Philadelphia  magazine  pub- 
lishers, were  the  first  to  pay  at  all  handsomely.  The 
coolness  with  which  an  editor  would  graciously 
"  accept "  an  article  and  print  it,  without  a  word  of 
thanks,  was  even  then  irritating,  though  we  did  not 
expect  anything  else ;  now  it  would  be  regarded  as  a 
piece  of  swindling.  Mr.  Willis  was  the  first  maga- 
zine writer  who  was  tolerably  well  paid;  at  one 
time,  about  1842,  he  was  writing  four  articles  monthly 
for  four  magazines,  and  receiving  one  hundred  dol- 
lars for  each.  Even  this  would  not  now  be  consid- 
ered .much  for  a  man  of  his  great  reputation  and 
popularity  as  a  writer.  But  all  is  changed.  Prices 
for  newspaper  work  of  a  literary  class  have  nearly 
trebled  within  twenty  years.  A  new  liberal  profes- 
sion has  been  created,  which  well-educated  men  are 
glad  to  enter,  and  in  which  they  find,  if  they  are 
worthy  of  it,  substantial  encouragement. 


128       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  BIRTH   OF   A   GREAT   PARTY. 

OLD  ANTISLAVERY  FEELING.  —  A  MUSICAL  MOB.  —  THE  NOM- 
INATION OF  TAYLOR  AND  CASS.  —  THE  FREE-SOIL  PARTY. 
—  THE  MASSACHUSETTS  COALITION.  —  HENRY  WILSON.  — 
ABBOTT  LAWRENCE.  —  BENJAMIN  F.  HALLETT.  —  THE  FUGI- 
TIVE SLAVE  LAW.  —  HORACE  MANN. 


never  was  a  time  when,  in  most  of  the 
-L  Northern  and  Northwestern  States,  an  anti- 
slavery  feeling  was  imperceptible.  This  is  generally 
true  of  New  England,  and  particularly  of  Massa- 
chusetts and  Vermont,  where  the  purely  philan- 
thropic sentiment  against  the  relic  of  barbarism  had 
something  of  the  warmth  and  force  of  a  religious 
conviction  ;  nor  should  the  Quaker  benevolence  of 
Pennsylvania,  with  the  sturdy  conscientiousness  of 
Ohio  and  Indiana,  be  forgotten.  In  closely  con- 
tested quarters  those  antislavery  men  who  per- 
mitted themselves  to  vote,  were  frequently  numerous 
enough  to  hold  the  local  balance  of  power,  and  to 
be  regarded  by  political  leaders  as  at  least  worthy 
of  conciliation.  The  letters  which  candidates,  and 
especially  candidates  for  Congress,  wrote  from  1830 
to  1840,  would  form  a  convenient  hand-book  for  the 
use  of  those  politicians  who  still  adhere  to  the  old, 
ingenious  method  of  winning  hearts  and  hands  with 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A    GREAT  PARTY.          129 

votes  in  them.  One  need  not  have  a  long  memory 
to  remember  the  day  when  the  Democratic  party 
itself  was  far  from  unanimous  in  its  fealty  to  the 
institution  of  institutions,  the  corner-stone  of  the 
republic,  when  the  Whig  party  was  locally  loud 
in  protestation  of  its  fidelity  to  Free  Speech,  and 
that  Eight  of  Petition  which  John  Quincy  Adams 
so  truculently  asserted  and  defended  in  his  old  age. 
If  a  candidate  was  then  interrogated  by  a  handful 
of  righteous  men  in  his  district  upon  these  points, 
no  matter  what  his  politics  might  be,  he  usually 
sent  back  a  civil  answer,  in  which  he  professed  him- 
self a  man  of  "  Northern  principles."  There  were 
cut  and  dried  formulas  which  may  have  meant  little 
to  those  who  used  them,  but  which  meant  a  great 
deal  to  those  who  asked  for  and  received  them. 
The  affectations  of  intense  Unionism  were  not  much 
known.  There  had  been  some  reaction  from  the 
hard  and  bitter  bigotry  which  maltreated  Mr.  Gar- 
rison, and  drove  George  Thompson  out  of  the  coun- 
try upon  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit.  There  is 
less  need  that  I  should  dwell,  even  in  the  most 
cursory  way,  upon  the  era  of  mob-rule,  for  the  his- 
tory has  already  been  written  by  the  able  hand  of 
my  friend,  Mr.  Oliver  Johnson.  The  mildest  and 
most  melodious  suppression  of  free  speech  which  I 
remember  may  be  just  mentioned.  An  antislavery 
meeting  was  to  be  held  in  one  of  our  churches, 
which  the  dissentients  determined  to  prevent.  So 
they  made  an  arrangement,  in  the  nature  of  a  con- 

9 


130       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

spiracy  with  the  choir  to  sing  down  the  speakers. 
Every  effort  to  organize  was  overwhelmed  by  a  flood 
of  psalmody.  "  Old  Hundred  "  and  "  Brattle  Street " 
and  "  Denmark  "  drowned  the  voices  of  the  orators, 
who  could  only  gesticulate  against  "the  covenant 
with  death  and  the  agreement  with  hell."  This  was 
insolent  and  unjust  enough ;  but  it  was  less  brutal 
than  the  tar  and  feathers  occasionally  resorted  to, 
safer  and  more  economical  than  tearing  down  the 
meeting-house.  The  influence  of  the  Garrisonians 
upon  the  public  heart  continued ;  the  agitation  was 
unrestrained  and  unending  ;  but  I  may  be  pardoned 
for  expressing  the  opinion  that  it  did  not  reach  the 
public  head.  The  Abolitionists  proper  kept  the 
North  wary  and  watchful,  and  ready  for  action  if 
action  should  be  found  imperatively  necessary.  It 
swept  away  the  thin  cover  of  Biblical  texts  which 
the  church  had  thrown  over  the  hideous  "  sum  of 
all  villanies  " ;  it  made  havoc  of  the  political  para- 
doxes of  Mr.  Calhoun;  and  it  prepared  the  Free 
States  for  righteous  resentment  and  a  sturdy  protest 
when  the  slaveholder  embraced  the  policy  of  mak- 
ing the  Union  subsidiary  to  his  purpose  of  perpetu- 
ating slavery,  by  casting  scorn  upon  the  Missouri 
Compromise,  and  sowing  the  teeth  of  the  dragon  in 
fresh  and  unpolluted  soil 

The  nomination  of  General  Taylor  by  the  "Whigs, 
and  of  General  Cass  by  the  Democrats  with  the  dis- 
affection of  the  New  York  Barnburners,  and  the 
nomination  of  Van  Buren  and  Adams  by  the  Buf- 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A   GREAT  PARTY.         131 

falo  Free- Soil  Convention,  brought  the  antislavery 
question  distinctly  before  the  people,  and  it  knew 
no  abeyance  until,  after  all  the  woe  and  waste  of 
an  internecine  struggle,  it  was  determined,  and 
righteously  determined,  upon  the  field  of  battle.  I 
do  not  think  that  the  issue  would  have  been  so  pre- 
cipitated but  for  the  fatuity  of  the  slaveholders,  ex- 
hibited in  their  persistent  demand  that  there  should 
be  no  discussion.  Their  Northern  allies  did  them 
no  service  by  aping  their  methods  and  echoing  their 
passionate  and  unreasonable  denunciations.  The 
gods  had  determined  upon  their  destruction  :  the 
last  relic  of  their  reason  left  them  when  they  made 
the  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln  an  excuse  for  the  most 
enormous  treason  which  the  world  has  ever  wit- 
nessed. 

The  Free  Soil  party,  which  sprung  to  life  in  Mas- 
sachusetts as  a  .consequence  of  the  nomination  of 
General  Taylor,  had  cause  enough  for  being,  but 
never  a  thoroughly  healthy  existence.  Several  well- 
known  Whigs,  including  Henry  Wilson,  Judge  Al- 
len, of  Worcester,  and  Stephen  C.  Phillips,  of  Salem, 
joined  its  ranks,  and  these  occupied  leading  posi- 
tions ;  but  it  was  mainly  reinforced  by  Democrats, 
whose  lingering  affection  for  Mr.  Van  Buren  had 
been  sorely  wounded  by  his  failure  to  secure  a  re- 
nomination.  It  started  in  "  truck  and  dicker  ; "  it 
was  animated  by  personal  resentments ;  and  it  was 
always  hampered  by  its  unnatural  connection  with 
the  Democrats,  who  used  it  for  securing  a  share  of 


132       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

the  State  plunder,  and  utterly  ignored  it  when  ques- 
tions of  national  moment  were  to  be  debated  and 
decided.  The  feeling  which  this  unnatural  alliance 
excited  in  Massachusetts  kept  the  Whig  party  alive 
in  that  State  for  several  years,  and  gave  it  more 
than  one  victory,  even  after  it  was  well-nigh  in  the 
article  of  death.  I  believe  Mr.  Wilson  to  have  been 
in  the  main  honest,  but  he  had  an  incurable  propen- 
sity to  manage  and  to  manoeuvre,  and,  though  direct 
enough  in  his  purposes,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  pro- 
mote them  by  indirect  methods.  The  young  men, 
who  looked  up  to  him  as  a  leader,  caught  something 
of  his  notions  of  political  morality,  which  found 
their  culmination  in  the  Know-Nothing  movement 
hereafter  to  be  mentioned  and  discussed.  I  would 
not  speak  thus  frankly  of  Mr.  Wilson's  public  char- 
acter, now  that  he  is  dead,  if  I  had  not  a  hundred 
times  spoken  of  it,  and  sometimes  to  himself,  while 
he  was  living.  The  vice  of  his  political  constitution 
was  that  he  could  see  no  wrong  in  bargains,  coa- 
litions, agreements,  alliances,  —  not  like  that  of 
1872,  which  was  animated  by  a  common  disapproval 
of  the  policy  of  the  national  administration,  but  un- 
natural, unnecessary,  and  based  on  personal  ambi- 
tions and  chronic  hunger  for  office.  It  is  hard  to 
find  fault  with  an  arrangement  which  made  Charles 
Sumner  a  senator  of  the  United  States ;  but  who 
does  not  now  wish  that  he  had  entered  upon  his 
great  career  in  a  different  way  ?  The  copartnership 
of  the  Democratic  and  Free  Soil  parties  in  Massa- 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A    GREAT  PARTY.          133 

clmsetts  led  to  a  great  deal  of  dubious  legislation  ; 
but  the  worst  of  it  was  that  it  permanently  injured 
the  manly  tone  of  political  sentiment,  and  was  not 
without  an  unfortunate  influence  upon  the  Eepub- 
lican  party  in  that  State.  "  All  the  Barnburners  of 
1848,"  says  Mr.  Wilson,  in  his  "  Eise  and  Fall  of 
the  Slave  Power  in  America,"  "in  their  desire  to 
avenge  the  wrongs  of  Van  Buren  and  Wright,  were 
willing  to  use  Free  Soil  weapons."  I  heard  John 
Van  Buren  in  1848  in  Faneuil  Hall,  with  his  collar 
and  neckerchief  off,  proclaim  that  the  Democratic 
party  of  New  York  was  to  be  a  great  antislavery 
party  ;  that  the  Democratic  party  of  the  United 
States  was  to  be  the  great  antislavery  party  of  the 
United  States  !  How  we  howled  for  joy,  and  cheered 
until  we  were  hoarse,  at  this  fierce  prediction  of  the 
Barnburner  prophet  and  prince  !  "  If,"  says  Mr. 
Wilson,  in  his  "History,"  "John  Van  Buren  had 
remained  true  to  the  principles  he  then  advocated, 
he  would  unquestionably  have  been  one  of  the  fore- 
most men  of  the  Eepublican  party."  This  is  all 
very  well  in  a  book ;  but  I  do  not  believe  that  Mr. 
Wilson  ever  expected  that  John  Van  Buren  would 
"  remain  true,"  and  there  is  something  a  little  comic 
in  the  way  in  which  the  grave  senator  laments  the 
defection  of  his  brilliant  and  darling  associate  of  a 
day. 

The  nomination  of  General  Taylor  disappointed  a 
great  many  people,  and  notably  Mr.  Webster.  At 
first  Jhe  declared,  as  he  only  could  declare,  that  he 


134       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

would  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter ;  but  there 
were  ways  of  persuading  him  to  change  his  mind 
which  were  not  unknown  to  his  wealthy  friends.  He 
was  induced  to  make  a  speech  in  support  of  the  hero 
of  Buena  Vista,  but  he  took  away  half  the  force  of 
his  advocacy  by  declaring  that  "  the  nomination  was 
not  fit  to  be  made."  The  Whig  State  Committee, 
naturally  anxious  to  print  the  speech  as  a  campaign 
document,  and  equally  anxious  not  to  print  a  certain 
part  of  it,  employed  Mr.  Peter  Harvey  to  conduct 
negotiations  regarding  a  prudent  excision.  It  may 
seem  remarkable  that  such  overtures  should  have 
been  made  to  so  great  a  man,  and  I  anticipate  an 
indignant  denial  of  the  truth  of  the  story  from  some 
unwise  admirer  of  Mr.  Webster.  As  my  information 
came  directly  from  the  gentleman  who  managed  the 
matter,  I  await  with  less  anxiety  the  contradiction 
which  this  paragraph  will  inevitably  call  forth. 

If  some  of  the  ablest  Whigs  of  Massachusetts  re- 
pudiated the  nomination,  some  of  the  richest,  and, 
among  them,  Mr.  Abbott  Lawrence,  gave  it  an  un- 
qualified and,  in  one  sense,  I  may  say  a  generous 
support.  He  was  sent  as  Minister  to  England  after 
the  organization  of  the  new  administration,  and  won 
us  and  himself  great  credit  by  the  large-handed  way 
in  which  he  maintained  the  hospitalities  of  the  lega- 
tion. He  brought  back  with  him  the  most  thor- 
oughly English  manner  which  I  have  ever  known  an 
American  to  acquire.  I  thought  of  him  continually 
when,  years  after,  I  listened  to  a  debate  —  and  a  dull 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A   GREAT  PARTY.         135 

and  stupid  one  it  was  —  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Mr.  Lawrence  did  not  drop  his  "  h's  ";  but  he  higgled 
and  hesitated,  and  used  his  eye-glass  exactly  like  a 
first  lord  of  the  treasury.  .While  he  had  been  abroad, 
the  Free  Soilers  and  Democrats  of  the  State  had  con- 
cocted a  series  of  constitutional  amendments,  good, 
bad,  and  indifferent ;  and  as  there  was  a  warm  oppo- 
sition to  them  on  the  part  of  the  Whigs,  it  was 
thought  desirable  that  Mr.  Lawrence  should  make  a 
speech  against  them.  There  was  a  new  apportion- 
ment of  the  representatives  which  was  particularly 
obnoxious ;  and  when  Mr.  Lawrence  came  to  our 
town  to  speak,  I  was  astonished  at  a  request  made 
by  one  of  his  friends  that  I  would  prepare  for  his 
use  a  brief  abstract  of  the  most  odious  features  of  the 
new  plan.  "  Oh ! "  I  said,  "  Mr.  Lawrence  knows 
more  about  these  matters  than  I  do."  "  On  the  con- 
trary," said  the  applicant,  "  he  knows  nothing  about 
them."  So  I  did  the  work  as  well  as  I  could ;  but, 
alas  !  when  Mr.  Lawrence  came  to  the  subject  in  his 
speech,  the  muddle  which  he  made  of  my  figures  was 
enough  to  throw  me  into  a  cold  perspiration.  It  was 
evident  that  he  had  confided  in  my  accuracy  to  a 
lamentable  extent,  —  an  honor  which  I  could  well 
have  dispensed  with.  With  his  eye-glass  going  up 
and  down,  he  read :  "  New  Ashford  —  twenty  thou- 
sand voters  —  no,  twenty  voters  —  no,  twenty-five 
voters  —  one  representative  every  other  year  —  no, 
every  year,  eh  ?  —  Lowell  —  no,  Lawrence,  eh  ?  — 
large  town  —  three  representatives  —  no,  two  repre- 


136       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

sentatives,  eh?  —  What,  fellow-citizens,  could  be 
more  outrageous?"  I  should  not  so  much  have 
cared  if  the  gallery  had  not  been  full  of  Free  Soilers, 
grinning  fearfully  and  stamping  ironically.  When 
Mr.  Lawrence  came  from  the  platform,  he  asked  me 
not  to  report  his  speech,  as  he  might  wish  to  make 
it  elsewhere.  I  hastened  to  assure  him,  in  the  most 
civil  manner,  that  I  had  no  such  intention.  I  ven- 
ture to  mention  the  circumstances  because  this  was 
not  the  first  instance,  nor  has  it  been  the  last,  in 
which  I  have  known  public  speakers  of  large  repu- 
tation to  employ  gentlemen  of  the  press  in  the  same 
way,  and  often,  I  am  grieved  to  add,  to  as  little 
purpose. 

Yet  I  would  not  have  the  reader  understand  from 
these  allusions  to  the  foibles  of  Mr.  Lawrence,  which 
were  perfectly  harmless  and  even  engaging,  that  he 
was  unentitled  to  the  highest  respect.  Eising  from 
comparative  poverty  to  great  opulence,  there  was  no 
trace  of  the  sordid  in  his  nature,  and  he  answered 
innumerable  appeals  to  his  benevolence  with  profuse 
liberality.  The  scientific  school  which  he  founded 
at  Cambridge,  and  which  bears  his  name,  is  a  monu- 
ment such  as  kings  might  envy,  and  may  for  ages 
attest  the  intelligence  of  his  mind  not  less  than  the 
generosity  of  his  heart.  We  always  reckoned  him 
among  the  most  liberal  of  the  Whigs  of  Massachu- 
setts ;  and  although  he  was  eminently  conservative, 
as  men  of  great  wealth  are  apt  to  be,  although  he 
was  a  little  too  much  disposed  to  acquiesce  in  accorn- 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A    GREAT  PARTY.          137 

plished  facts,  or  those  which  he  regarded  as  accom- 
plished, yet  he  never  had  any  hearty  sympathy  either 
with  slaveholders  or  their  Northern  allies.  I  think 
if  we  had  a  hundred  great  merchants  like  him  left  in. 
the  country  that  perhaps  the  political  atmosphere 
would  be  sweeter,  and  the  foundations  of  the  repub- 
lic just  a  little  more  secure. 

The  coalition  of  hard-hearted  Democrats  and  of 
soft-hearted  Free  Soilers  for  some  time  gave  to  the 
utterances  of  really  honest  men  a  savor  of  insincer- 
ity, which  did  them,  I  admit,  substantial  injustice. 
There  was  an  undeniable  aroma  of  plunder  about 
the  partition  of  the  offices  :  the  governorship  to  the 
Democrats,  the  senatorship  to  the  other  party ;  this 
place  to  a  Fugitive -Slave  Law  man,  and  that  to  one 
who  held  the  enactment  in  horror.  It  was  easy  to 
ridicule  and  denounce  such  a  coalition,  but  it  was 
not  easy  to  arrest  its  progress ;  for  there  was  an 
equally  unnatural  coalition  upon  the  other  side,  of 
Hunker  Whigs  and  Hunker  Democrats,  of  such  men 
as  Benjamin  R.  Curtis  and  Benjamin  F.  Hallett. 
The  last-named  person  was  particularly  obnoxious 
on  account  of  his  complete  surrender  of  his  early 
antislavery  opinions  upon  the  altar  of  party.  Hard 
words  were  said  of  him,  as  a  single  anecdote  will 
show.  One  morning  he  met  Mr.  Edward  Sohier, 
a  distinguished  member  of  the  Boston  bar,  who 
asked  him  how  he  did.  "  Pretty  well,  Mr.  So- 
hier," answered  Hallett,  "  though  people  abuse  me, 
and,  in  fact,  they  call  me  Judas  Iscariot."  "  Pretty 


138       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

bad,"  replied  the  wit,  "but  what  do  you  think  Judas 
would  say  ?  How  do  you  think  Judas  would  like 
it  ? "  I  suppose  the  truth  to  be  that  the  coalition 
which  ultimately  resulted  in  entirely  taking  Massa- 
chusetts out  of  the  hands  of  the  Whigs,  who  had 
politically  controlled  it  for  so  many  years  and  by 
such  large  majorities,  was  based  upon  the  feeling 
that  anything  was  better  than  a  tame  surrender  to 
the  professional  Union-savers.  "When  the  law  was 
practically  enforced  in  Boston,  the  citizens,  though 
some  of  them  assisted  in  the  loathsome  work,  were 
deeply  and  profoundly  mortified.  When  the  fugi- 
tive slave,  Simms,  was  claimed  by  Potter,  of  Georgia, 
a  lady  of  the  most  refined  and  conservative  circles, 
annoyed  by  the  tumult  and  ashamed  of  the  indig- 
nity offered  to  the  city,  exclaimed,  "  Pray,  why  does 
not  somebody  kidnap  Potter  ? "  While  the  hearing 
in  the  Simms  case  was  going  on,  the  court-house 
was  surrounded  with  heavy  chains  to  keep  out  the 
people.  Let  it  be  remembered  that  this  was  the 
State  court-house,  in  which  State  courts  were  then 
in  session ;  the  United  States  being  only  tenants  of 
rooms  at  one  end,  across  which  the  United  States 
marshal  could  easily  have  placed  a  barrier.  Mr. 
Charles  Sumner,  when  the  chain  was  a  little  lifted, 
went  under  it ;  so  did  Mr.  Chief  Justice  Shaw,  of 
the  Supreme  Court  of  the  State,  though,  as  the  rep- 
resentative of  the  judicial  power  of  Massachusetts, 
he  certainly  should  have  ordered  its  removal.  Mr. 
Richard  H.  Dana,  of  counsel  for  the  fugitive,  de- 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A   GREAT  PARTY.         139 

clined  to  go  under  the  chain,  but  jumped  over  it 
after  it  was  lowered.  The  officers  required  every 
person  to  satisfy  them  that  he  had  business  which 
obliged  him  to  enter.  Thus  the  State  tribunals 
were  almost  literally  closed  against  the  people.  Mr. 
Dana  went  at  once  to  the  court  of  Common  Pleas, 
over  which  Judge  Wells  was  presiding,  and  called 
the  attention  of  that  magistrate  to  the  indignity. 
Judge  Wells  dismissed  the  matter  upon  affidavits 
that  the  obstruction  had  been  partially  removed. 
He  had  been  a  Free  Soil  man,  and  his  temporizing 
action  disappointed  many  of  his  old  associates ;  while 
the  course  of  Mr.  Chief  Justice  Shaw  was  regarded 
by  not  a  few,  who  had  long  admired  him  as  a  judge 
and  a  man,  with  regret  and  disapprobation. 

'  Unquestionably  at  this  time  Massachusetts  did 
put  herself  in  an  attitude  of  positive  and  technically 
treasonous  hostility  to  the  Federal  Government. 
Men  of  character  and  of  the  highest  social  position 
did  undoubtedly  countenance  and  counsel  distinct 
disobedience.  Yet  what  men  they  were !  How 
loyal  they  were  to  virtue  and  freedom  and  human- 
ity !  How  large  they  were !  How  much  larger  they 
seemed,  surrounded  by  politicians  who  did  not  for- 
get to  serve  themselves  while  pleading  the  cause 
of  the  slave,  and  prudently  blending  political  and 
pecuniary  success  !  The  Free  Soil  party  of  Massa- 
chusetts had  several  such  members,  eloquent,  learned, 
utterly  unselfish,  and  thoroughly  in  earnest.  Among 
the  foremost  of  those  who  denounced  the  extradi- 


140       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

tion  of  Simms  was  Horace  Mann.  Naturally  he 
was  as  conservative  as  he  was  conscientious.  To 
disloyalty,  to  disorder,  to  civic  irregularity,  to  the 
enthusiasm  which  overleaps  the  law,  he  must  have 
had  a  natural  antipathy.  It  was  only  gross  injustice 
and  cruelty  inflicted  in  the  name  of  law  which 
could  have  restrained  him  from  rebuking  those  who 
sought  to  do  good  by  unconstitutional  methods. 
He  had  the  gravity  and  something  of  the  stern  in- 
flexibility of  the  Bornan  nature.  Even  in  society, 
he  bore  himself  with  consummate  dignity.  I  once 
passed  several  days  with  him  at  a  country  house ; 
and  well  do  I  remember  how  frightened  I  was  after 
I  had  rashly  corrected  him  upon  some  historical 
point.  It  does  not  much  matter  what  it  was,  —  not 
much  that  I  was  right  and  he  was  wrong.  He  an- 
swered me  in  such  a  way  that  I  was  glad  to  take 
refuge  in  silence,  and  leave  the  whole  company  to 
believe  that  I  had  committed  a  gross  blunder.  When 
the  next  morning  before  breakfast,  —  for  he  was  an 
early  riser,  —  he  cut  his  hand  badly  in  chopping 
wood,  —  for  he  also  had  views  of  the  necessity  of 
physical  exercise,  —  I  am  afraid  that  I  was  not  so 
sorry  for  the  accident  as  the  others  were.  When  af- 
terward he  became  president  of  Antioch  College,  I 
knew  perfectly  well  that  he  would  miss  neither  the 
reverence  nor  the  obedience  of  his  students.  Mr. 
Dana,  the  poet,  once  said,  while  standing  before 
Brackett's  bust  of  Allston,  "  He  makes  us  all  look 
down!"  There  was  something  in  Horace  Mann's 


THE  BIRTH  OF  A    GREAT  PARTY.          141 

manner  which,  at  least  upon  myself,  had  a  similar 
effect.  Of  his  great  services  to  the  cause  of  public 
education  in  Massachusetts  it  is  unnecessary  for  me 
to  speak.  Few  know,  however,  how  bad  was  the 
condition  of  many  of  the  schools  of  that  State  when 
they  were  committed  to  his  hands.  I  fear  that  in 
some  of  his  reforms  he  was  absolutely  remorseless. 
I  knew  three  old  ladies  who  had  been  keeping  pub- 
lic schools  in  Boston  for  a  great  number  of  years, 
and  who  fell  before  his  vigorous  and  reformatory 
onslaught.  They  did  not  speak  of  him  with  much 
affection  ;  indeed,  they  regarded  him  as  a  peculiarly 
unamiable  ogre :  but  the  language  in  which  they 
narrated  their  grievances  was  so  independent  in  its 
disposition  of  the  nominative  cases  and  verbs,  that 
I  could  easily  understand  one  of  the  reasons,  at 
least,  of  Mr.  Mann's  apparent  hard-heartedness.  In 
the  chapter  which  will  follow  this,  I  shall  speak  of 
other  distinguished  Free  Soilers  of  Massachusetts : 
it  was  proper  that  this  superior  person  should  have 
precedence. 


142      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE  XL 

OLD   PARTIES  AND   POLITICIANS. 

THE  KNOW-NOTHING  MOVEMENT  IN  MASSACHUSETTS.  —  COVER- 
NOR  GARDNER.  —  MR.  WILSON'S  ELECTION  TO  THE  SENATE. 
—  FREE  SOILERS,  REPUBLICANS,  AND  COALITIONISTS.  —  AN- 
SON  BURLINGAME.  —  NATHANIEL  P.  BANKS.  —  FRANCIS  "W. 
BIRD.  —  GOVERNOR  JOHN  A.  ANDREW. 

WHEN"  I  went  to  Boston,  in  1854,  to  become 
one  of  the  editors  of"  The  Boston  Atlas,"  pol- 
itics were  in  a  transitory  condition.  With  all  my 
sympathies  upon  the  side  of  the  Whigs,  I  had  no 
suspicion  of  the  impending  demise  of  the  party.  I 
thought  that  it  had  antislavery  savor  enough  to  sus- 
tain it,  and  I  did  not  anticipate  that  the  people 
would  so  strongly  resent  the  obsolete  notions  of  the 
Hunker  Whigs  of  Boston.  We  who  did  not  agree 
with  them  had  tried  hard  to  reconcile  radical  differ- 
ences. One  by  one,  we  had  seen  the  men  whom 
we  loved  and  honored  go  away  from  us  into  strange 
and,  to  us,  unpalatable  associations.  While  we 
hated  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  and  all  the  measures 
which  were  called  by  the  name  of  compromise,  we 
looked  back  with  affection  upon  the  old  victories 
and  even  the  old  defeats,  and  asked  ourselves  if  the 
name  and  the  organization  might  not  yet  be  saved. 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.  143 

But  the  pressure  for  a  thorough  revision  of  party 
lines  was  too  strong  for  the  antislavery  Whigs  of 
Massachusetts,  and  the  temporizing  policy  of  the 
Fillmore  administration,  with  the  course  which 
Mr.  Webster  saw  fit  to  pursue,  was  too  much  for 
the  loyalty  of  our  fast-diminishing  ranks.  A  great 
many  men,  I  now  persuade  myself,  went  away  from 
us  merely  because  we  were  called  Whigs.  It  was 
in  vain  that  not  a  few  of  us  ventured  to  the  extreme 
verge  of  Garrisouian  abolitionism  in  our  denunci- 
ation of  the  institution,  and  our  opposition  to  the 
legislation  which  it  was  fondly  thought  would  per- 
petuate it.  It  was  in  vain  that  we  abandoned  all 
policy  in  the  indulgence  of  our  sympathies.  Two 
classes  of  men  confronted  us  with  looks  of  disap- 
proval. The  Democratic  party,  having  utterly  given 
itself  up  to  the  control  of  the  oligarchy  of  slave- 
holders, denounced  us,  as  it  had  some  right  to  do. 
The  Hunker  Whigs,  still  professing  to  be  with  us 
and  of  us,  called  by  our  name  and  claiming  a  place 
in  our  conventions,  hated  us  more  heartily  and  op- 
posed us  more  obstinately  than  did  our  traditional 
enemies,  the  Democrats.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  we 
grew  weary  of  the  name  of  Whig  ?  Yet  in  1854 
there  was  one  battle  more  to  be  fought,  though  little 
did  I  anticipate  its  result.  It  decided  most  em- 
phatically the  canvass  of  that  year.  The  organiza- 
tion of  the  Know-Nothing  party  in  Massachusetts 
was  one  of  the  most  curious  of  which  I  have  ever 
had  any  knowledge.  It  was  an  anomaly  for  which 


144      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

it  is  impossible  to  account.  I  went  down  to  Boston 
to  engage  in  my  new  duties  late  in  the  autumn  of 
1854,  without  the  slightest  idea  of  the  impending 
catastrophe,  and  actually  entertaining  the  belief  that 
Emory  Washburn,  the  Whig  candidate  for  governor, 
would  be  elected  either  by  the  people  or  the  Legis- 
lature. He  lacked  only  about  50,000  votes  of 
achieving  that  success.  At  this  moment,  more  than 
a  quarter  of  a  century  afterward,  I  blush  for  the 
simplicity  with  which  I  anticipated  a  widely  differ- 
ent result.  I  knew  that  there  was  a  Know-Nothing 
organization,  I  was  in  the  way  of  picking  up  what- 
ever political  intelligence  might  be  floating  about ; 
yet,  associating  every  day  with  men  who  were  in  the 
Know-Nothing  lodges,  and,  in  the  new  editorial  po- 
sition which  I  occupied,  having  every  incentive  to 
be  vigilant  and  wary,  I  no  more  suspected  the  im- 
pending result  than  I  looked  for  an  earthquake 
which  would  level  the  State  House  and  reduce  Fa- 
neuil  Hall  to  a  heap  of  ruins.  I  mention  the  fact 
to  show  how  faithfully  a  political  secret  shared  by 
thousands  upon  thousands  —  some  80,000  in  all  — 
was  kept.  I  went  to  work  on  "  The  Atlas  "  precisely 
as  if  I  believed  a  decent  Whig  victory  to  be  certain. 
I  knew  that  the  Know-Nothings  were  doing  some- 
thing, but  I  little  knew  how  much.  A  week  after 
I  began  my  new  business,  I  was  passing  through 
Congress  Street,  with  my  associate,  Dr.  Brewer. 
We  met  Henry  J.  Gardner,  the  Know-Nothing  can- 
didate for  governor.  He  took  Dr.  Brewer  aside  for 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.  145 

a  long  conversation,  and  when  my  friend  rejoined 
me  he  told  me  that  Mr.  Gardner  said,  "  You  had 
better  not  abuse  me  as  you  are  abusing  me  in  '  The 
Atlas.'  I  shall  be  elected  by  a  very  large  majority." 
The  dry-goods  merchant  turned  politician  under- 
stood matters  much  better  than  I  did ;  for,  upon  the 
receipt  of  this  private  information,  not  in  the  least 
daunted,  I  went  back  to  my  desk  and  predicted  his 
defeat  more  decidedly  than  ever.  It  was  a  perfect 
rout,  as  all  the  world  knows ;  but  I  remember,  with 
pardonable  complacency,  that  I  said,  the  morning 
after  the  election,  that  the  whole  matter  was  an 
empty  piece  of  tomfoolery  ;  that  the  Know-Nothing 
party  had  no  reason  for  being ;  that  I  would  give  it 
three  years  of  existence,  and  not  one  year  more.  It 
seemed  to  me  then  rather  like  a  huge  joke  than  any- 
thing else.  Governor  Gardner  was  an  excellent 
representative  of  its  thin  and  shallow  insincerity, 
and  of  its  hand-to-mouth  expedients.  He  had  no 
opinions ;  and  if  he  had  possessed  any,  they  would 
have  been  of  no  value.  We  afterward  found  out  how 
he  was  nominated  in  the  Know-Nothing  State  Con- 
vention. A  delegate,  who  had  as  much  to  do  with 
the  matter  as  anybody,  told  me  the  story.  It  was  a 
mongrel  gathering,  full  of  people  who  did  hate  the 
Catholic  Irish,  and  of  people  who  did  not.  It  was 
hard  to  agree  upon  a  candidate,  and  my  informant 
went  to  Mr.  Gardner  and  said,  "  May  I  assure  the 
convention  that  you  are  both  an  antislavery  and  a 
temperance  man  ? "  "  You  may  say,"  said  the  future 
10 


146       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

governor,  "  that  I  have  always  been  an  antislavery 
man,  and  that  I  am  a  temperance  man  of  fifteen 
years'  standing."  "  Hum  ! "  said  a  friend  to  whom 
I  told  the  story,  "  how  was  it  when  he  ran  as  a 
pro-slavery,  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  Webster  Whig 
against  me  for  the  Common  Council  and  beat  me  ? " 
"Hum!"  said  another  friend,  "how  was  it  that  not 
very  long  ago  I  was  compelled  to  throw  the  brandy 
bottle  out  of  the  window  to  keep  him  from  drinking 
any  more  ? "  He  was  nominated,  as  I  was  told  by 
one  who  was  well-informed,  upon  the  strength  of 
these  assurances.  The  Legislature  elected  at  the 
same  time  was  overwhelmingly  Know-Nothing.  It 
sent  Mr.  Wilson  to  the  United  States  Senate,  for  he 
too  was  with  the  Philistines.  There  were  Know- 
Nothings  who  would  have  been  glad  to  defeat  him. 
They  came  slyly  to  "  The  Atlas  "  office  and  said  so ; 
and  I  dare  say,  they  went  back  to  the  State  House 
and  voted  for  him.  Why  should  n't  they  ?  Was  n't 
Mr.  Wilson  a  member  of  the  great  American  party  ? 
When  he  was  running  for  the  vice-presidency,  and 
Catholic  votes  were  desirable,  if  he  did  not  himself 
deny  the  fact,  he  suffered  others  to  deny  it ;  but  he 
himself  told  me  that  he  was  a  Know-Nothing,  and  I 
know,  upon  good  information,  that  he  was  regularly 
initiated  in  one  lodge  after  being  refused  admission 
to  another.  I  might  write  much,  little  to  its  credit, 
of  the  Know-Nothing  Legislature,  in  which  the 
party  had  everything  their  own  way.  It  was,  I 
suppose,  the  most  ill-assorted  legislative  body  which 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.  147 

ever  met  in  this  country.  There  was  the  outward 
form  of  a  party  ;  but  the  maelstrom  of  the  specula- 
tion had  engulfed  all  the  floating  political  rubbish  of 
Massachusetts,  and  when  it  regurgitated  the  anom- 
alous collection  of  sharp  semi-statesmen  and  village 
aspirants,  the  State  House  in  Boston  was  made  the 
unfortunate  receptacle  of  the  discharge.  The  Legis- 
lature was  full  of  ignorant  and  inexperienced  mem- 
bers, some  of  whom  believed  in  the  nonsense  which 
was  talked  about  the  Pope  of  Rome,  and  the  dangers 
to  be  apprehended  from  our  foreign  population  ;  but 
most  of  them  cared  for  none  of  these  things,  and 
indeed  cared  for  nothing  except  place  and  its  per- 
quisites and  honors.  They  made  a  show  of  reducing 
to  something  like  enactment  the  loose  notions  of 
the  lodges  ;  but,  after  all  the  odium  of  the  attempts, 
they  effected  nothing  permanent  in  that  way,  partly 
because  they  did  not  know  how,  and  partly  because 
the  Constitution  of  the  State  and  the  Constitution 
of  the  United  States  were  both  in  their  way.  They 
sent  committees  to  examine  boarding-schools  kept 
by  Catholic  teachers,  and  the  conduct  of  some  of 
the  members  of  these  committees  brought  their 
party  into  great  disrepute  and  trouble.  One  par- 
ticularly obnoxious  representative  it  was  found  ne- 
cessary, in  common  decency,  to  expel.  It  was,  of 
course,  impossible  to  keep  the  secret  machinery  of 
the  Know-Nothing  lodges  in  working  order,  and  all 
which  made  them  potential  and  dangerous  became 
necessarily  ineffective  after  the  first  victory.  The 


148       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

whole  play  was  rapidly  performed.  The  able  men 
of  the  organization  found  their  place  elsewhere  ;  the 
ignorant  and  fanatical  disappeared  from  the  public 
eye ;  and  very  few  of  those  who  were  factitiously 
thrust  into  notoriety  survived  the  disbanding  of  this 
motley  party  of  a  day. 

Among  the  clever  young  men  who  were  brought 
into  public  affairs  by  the  breaking  up  of  parties 
and  by  the  intense  moral  interest  which  political 
controversies  had  excited,  no  one  was  more  popular 
and  none  did  more  efficient  campaign  work  in  Mas- 
sachusetts than  Mr.  Anson  Burlingame.  His  first 
forensic  efforts  had  the  faults  of  youth.  He  had 
not  been  trained  in  a  good  school,  he  had  brought 
from  the  "West  the  bad  rhetorical  peculiarities  of  the 
Western  stump,  he  exhibited  a  certain  lack  of 
severe  culture ;  but  his  good  nature  was  indomitable, 
his  verbal  resources  copious,  his  way  winning ;  his 
desire,  at  a  critical  period,  to  be  distinguished  and 
to  do  the  State  a  real  service,  extremely  honorable. 
He  had  a  pleasing  simplicity  in  social  intercourse, 
and  all  his  associates  were  ready  to  spend  and  to  be 
spent  in  his  promotion.  I  might  call  him,  in  no 
discreditable  sense,  the  pet  of  the  Massachusetts 
Free  Soil  men.  Happening  at  that  time  to  be  upon 
the  other  side,  I  found  in  Mr.  Burlingame's  speeches 
an  excellent  chance  for  a  good  deal  of  satirical  writ- 
ing ;  and  though  I  made  great  fun  of  him,  to  my 
astonishment  he  did  not  personally  resent  it.  If 
anybody  had  written  of  me  in  the  same  way,  I 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.          149 

doubt  if  I  should  have  found  the  attack  so  easy  to 
bear.  His  early  rhetorical  manner  assisted  ridicule, 
and  it  required  no  great  cleverness  to  call  him  the 
Phoenix  of  Free  Soil.  What  I  liked  in  Mr.  Burlin- 
game,  what  immeasurably  raised  him  in  my  estima- 
tion, after  I  came  personally  to  know  him,  was  his 
thorough  sweetness  of  disposition  and  the  facility 
with  which  he  forgave.  He  recounted  the  jokes 
which  had  been  made  against  him,  and  good-humor- 
edly  laughed  at  them,  as  if  they  had  been  made 
about  somebody  else.  He  welcomed  you  as  hospit- 
ably to  his  board  as  if  you  had  not  lampooned  him. 
His  speeches  suggested  personal  vanity,  but  those 
who  came  to  understand  him  best  found  that  he  hai 
little  or  none.  I  was  sometimes  embarrassed  by  the 
frankness  with  which  he  spoke  of  his  own  deficien- 
cies. "I  must  study  the  political  history  of  the 
country,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,  after  he  had  been 
for  some  time  a  member  of  Congress;  and  from 
what  I  subsequently  observed  of  his  public  career,  I 
more  than  suspect  that  he  adhered  to  this  resolution, 
which  other  members  of  Congress  might  do  well  to 
consider,  for  he  exhibited,  after  he  became  Minis- 
ter to  China,  a  solid  capacity  for  which  I  had  not 
given  him  credit.  When  Mr.  Brooks  made  his 
shameful  assault  upon  Senator  Sumner,  Mr.  Burlin- 
game,  who  was  then  in  the  House  of  Eepresentatives, 
behaved  extremely  well.  The  public  probably  has 
not  yet  forgotten  the  fit  terms  in  which,  in  his  place, 
he  characterized  that  barbarous  outrage ;  and  when 


150       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

we  found  at  home  that  we  had  a  member  who  was 
ready  to  fight,  if  it  was  necessary  or  thought  to  be 
necessary,  we  did  not,  I  fear,  well  enough  consider 
the  absurdity  and  wickedness  of  the  duello.  For 
Massachusetts,  at  that  moment,  was  in  a  somewhat 
pugnacious  mood,  and  if  Mr.  Burlingame  had  really 
gone  out,  as  he  was  quite  ready  to  go,  I  suspect  that 
the  sternest  moralist  would  not  have  remembered  it 
against  him.  "I  fight,"  he  said  significantly  to  me, 
when  indignation  was  at  the  hottest;  and  he  proved 
it  to  be  no  idle  boast.  I  recall  how  his  conduct 
on  the  occasion  quite  restored  him  to  the  good 
opinion  of  a  young  Irish  lawyer  in  Boston,  who 
was  in  a  maze  of  astonishment  that  nobody  had 
challenged  Mr.  Brooks,  and  who,  with  very  slight 
encouragement,  would  himself  have  gone  to  Wash- 
ington to  vindicate  the  outraged  dignity  of  the  old 
commonwealth.  The  last  time  I  saw  Mr.  Burlin- 
game, we  walked  up  and  down  the  sands  of  Nahant 
together  after  the  election  of  Mr.  Lincoln,  and  talked 
of  the  possible  results  of  that  event.  He  was,  as  usual, 
full  of  enthusiasm.  He  had  just  been  beaten  in  his 
own  district,  but  he  looked  forward  with  alacrity  to 
his  employment  by  the  new  administration  in  a 
diplomatic  capacity.  He  was  sent  to  Vienna ;  but 
Austria,  remembering  his  eloquent  vindication  of 
Hungarian  independence,  refused  to  receive  him. 
How  fortunate  it  was  that  he  was  thus  repelled 
it  is  needless  to  say.  He  was  at  once  accredited  to 
China,  and  awakened  a  confidence  in  the  govern- 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.          151 

ment  of  that  country  which  led  to  the  most  impor- 
tant results. 

Of  those  Democratic  recruits  who  came  into  the 
Republican  party  by  the  devious  paths  of  the  coali- 
tion was  Mr.  Nathaniel  P.  Banks,  since  well  enough 
known  in  national  affairs.  Mr.  Bauks's  youth  was 
passed  in  a  position  which  is  usually  spoken  of  as 
humble:  he  was,  I  believe, a  bobbin-boy  in  a  Waltham 
cotton  factory,  and  subsequently  a  good  machinist. 
His  peculiar  success  has  been  held  up,  in  certain 
cheap  biographies,  as  a  stimulative  example  to  other 
bobbin-boys,  and  to  boys  in  general.  He  was  rhe- 
torical from  the  start.  He  delivered  temperance  and 
other  addresses;  he  tried  his  hand  at  editing  a  news- 
paper in  his  native  Waltham;  he  essayed  the  stage, 
and  once  acted  Claude  Melnotte  in  a  Boston  theatre; 
I  have  been  informed  that  he  even  exhibited  ability 
as  a  dancing-master.  When  he  made  speeches 
setting  forth  the  heartless  way  in  which  the  aspira- 
tions of  poor  but  clever  young  men  were  crushed  by 
the  Whig  aristocracy  of  Massachusetts,  it  was  not 
thought  to  be  either  inopportune  or  unfair  to  remind 
him  of  what  he  was  and  of  what  he  had  been.  He 
was  either  extremely  fortunate  or  his  theories  were 
unsound.  For  a  time  everything  went  well  with 
him.  Mr.  Polk  gave  him  a  pretty  place  in  the 
Boston  Custom  House.  Waltham  sent  him  as  a 
Democrat  to  the  House  of  Representatives.  Three 
years  after,  the  coalition  made  him  Speaker  of  the 
House,  and  he  developed  particular  tact  as  a  presid- 


152       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

ing  officer.  The  coalition  chose  him  to  the  Thirty- 
third  Congress;  he  gradually  drifted  entirely  away 
from  the  Democratic  party.  His  luck  was  the  luck 
of  an  orient  fable.  Speaker  of  the  National  House ; 
governor  of  Massachusetts;  president  of  a  railway; 
major-general ;  again  in  Congress,  —  office  for  a  time 
seemed  to  come  to  him  without  asking,  though  the 
game  changed  at  last.  He  went  with  the  rest  into 
the  Know-Nothing  ranks,  and  if  his  design  was  to 
kill  the  Whig  party,  he  at  least  had  never  been  a 
Whig,  so  that  there  was  no  taint  of  parricide  in  his 
speculation.  Somebody  remarked  of  Lord  Thurlow 
that  there  never  was  anybody  so  wise  as  he  looked. 
Mr.  Banks  had  something  of  the  same  sagacious 
manner.  He  said  what  he  had  to  say  with  a  pro- 
found gravity  which  filled  the  listener  with  vague 
ideas  of  uncommon  perspicacity.  It  was  during  the 
winter  of  1855-1856  that  I  first  heard  an  intimation 
of  the  probable  nomination  of  Colonel  Fremont  for 
the  presidency.  It  was  at  a  little  dinner  at  the 
Tremont  House,  in  Boston,  at  which  only  three  or 
four  persons  were  present,  and  among  them  the 
Hon.  Charles  W.  Upham,  an  ex-member  of  Con- 
gress, to  whom  was  subsequently  entrusted  the 
writing  of  one  of  the  campaign  biographies  of  the 
explorer.  Just  after  the  soup,  Mr.  Banks  nominated 
Colonel  Fremont,  and  said  that  he  would  soon  write 
a  letter  in  which  the  wrongs  of  bleeding  Kansas 
would  be  duly  set  forth.  I  particularly  remember 
that  Mr.  Banks  was  perfectly  sure  that  Colonel 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.          153 

Fremont  could  carry  Pennsylvania:  he  was  such  a 
man,  he  said,  as  the  Quakers  would  be  likely  to  vote 
for.  He  did  not  probably  anticipate  that  the  Demo- 
crats would  spend  so  much  money  in  buying  up  the 
State,  and  perhaps  he  did  not  expect  that  Mr. 
Buchanan  would  be  nominated.  I  may  remark  in 
passing  that  the  Pennsylvania  Eepublicans  showed 
no  great  moderation  in  sending  to  Massachusetts  for 
money,  nor  any  great  sagacity  in  spending  whatever 
they  obtained.  To  go  back  to  Mr.  Banks,  I  may 
add  that  I  was  much  impressed  by  the  cleverness 
with  which  he  discussed  the  political  situation :  he 
seemed  to  have  a  prescience  of  every  characteristic 
of  the  coming  canvass,  save  the  disastrous  defeat 
with  which  it  terminated.  Very  soon  came  the 
anticipated  letter  from  Colonel  Fremont,  and  a 
pretty  and  well-written  letter  it  was.  Perhaps  Mr. 
Banks  wrote  it.  It  was  handed  to  me  for  the  pub- 
lication in  "  The  Boston  Atlas  "  and  I  constructed  a 
beautiful  leading  article  about  it,  in  which  bleeding 
Kansas  and  the  colonel's  march  across  the  continent 
were  agreeably  and  forcibly  blended.  I  thought  it 
a  great  stroke  of  journalistic  enterprise  to  get  the 
letter  exclusively ;  and  when  my  friend,  Mr.  Elizur 
Wright,  Jr.,  who  was  editing  "  The  Boston  Chronicle" 
on  the  other  side  of  the  street,  sent  over  to  beg  an 
advance  copy  of  the  important  document,  I  was 
hard-hearted  enough  to  refuse  it ;  though  this  self- 
ishness, I  am  bound  to  admit,  did  not  in  the  least 
diminish  Mr.  Wright's  good-nature.  The  nomination 


154      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

of  Colonel  Fremont  came  in  time,  but  before  it  was 
made  we  committed  in  the  Atlas  office  about  as 
bad  a  blunder  as  possible.  Our  correspondent  at 
Washington  was  Mr.  Simon  P.  Hanscombe,  a  man 
with  a  prodigious  passion  for  sending  news.  He 
was  enterprising  and  generally  trustworthy,  although 
his  letters  bore  —  and  repaid  —  careful  supervision. 
He  took  it  into  his  head  to  send  us  a  despatch  contain- 
ing the  startling  information  that  Colonel  Fremont 
was  a  Roman  Catholic  and  would  not,  therefore,  be 
a  desirable  candidate.  This  precious  news  came 
late ;  for  some  reason  I  had  gone  home  earlier  than 
usual,  and  the  night-editor,  with  a  plentiful  lack  of 
sagacity,  printed  the  dreadful  disclosure,  which, 
within  a  fortnight,  was  reprinted  in  large  capitals 
in  every  Democratic  newspaper  in  the  country. 
When  I  saw  the  despatch  in  the  morning  it  quite 
took  away  my  appetite  for  my  breakfast.  I  did  not 
myself  care  a  groat  whether  Colonel  Fremont  was  a 
Catholic,  a  Protestant,  or  neither ;  but  it  must  be 
remembered  that  the  absurd  Know-Nothing  prej- 
udice against  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  was  then 
rampant,  and  that  we  could  hardly  expect  to  elect 
Colonel  Fremont  without  Know-Nothing  votes  or 
without  a  Know-Nothing  national  nomination.  The 
story  started  upon  its  travels  in  seven-league  boots, 
and  though  we  protested  and  explained  and  denied, 
we  were  never  able  to  arrest  its  mischievous  mean- 
derings.  People  who  read  it  then  may  like  to  know 
its  origin.  It  gave  us  no  end  of  trouble,  which 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS.          155 

might  have  been  saved  if  Mr.  Hanscombe,  who  was 
one  of  the  best-intentioned  men  in  the  world,  had 
been  just  a  little  less  smart,  or  if  I  had  gone  home 
an  hour  or  so  later. 

Among  the  leading  men  of  those  times  was  Mr. 
Francis  W.  Bird,  the  best  known  of  all  Mas- 
sachusetts politicians  who  have  held  no  national 
office.  Mr.  Bird  was  —  if  I  may  borrow  Dr.  J  ohn- 
sori's  classification — eminently  "a  clubable  man." 
The  affairs  of  the  party  were  not  conducted  without 
a  modicum  of  festivity,  and  Mr.  Bird  liked  good 
fellowship,  being  never  happier  than  when  he  could 
make  himself  useful  in  the  conduct  of  the  sym- 
posium. When  the  Free  Soil  lights  met  in  Cornhill 
Court  for  consultation  and  dietary  refreshment,  it 
was  Mr.  Bird  who  broiled  the  venison  and  gave  us 
the  tid-bits  hot  and  hot.  These  were  pleasant 
gatherings,  where,  without  formality  we  sat  at  the 
board  to  plan  campaigns,  to  discuss  political  chances, 
and  to  ameliorate  the  austerities  of  politics  by  a 
moderate  conviviality.  And  who,  of  all  seated 
there,  was  better  liked  and  more  thoroughly  respected 
than  Frank  Bird,  as  those  who  were  entitled  to  do 
so  by  the  familiarity  of  friendship,  and  those  who  were 
not,  were  in  the  habit  of  calling  him  ?  He  was  a  man 
whose  honor  was  never  doubted ;  whose  word  made 
the  precautionary  provisions  of  his  bond  ridiculous; 
who  had  his  own  way  of  thinking,  but  was  entirely 
loyal  to  his  party  while  he  saw  fit  to  remain  in  it. 
He  was  so  positive  in  his  personal  opinions,  wliether 


156       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

they  were  about  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  or  the 
Hoosac  Tunnel,  that  he  lived  and  moved  in  daily, 
and  I  may  say  hourly  danger  of  bolting ;  so  that  I 
was  not  in  the  least  surprised  when  he  walked  over 
to  the  camp  of  the  enemy,  and  proclaimed  himself 
one  of  those  Democrats  from  whom  he  had  received 
and  to  whom  he  had  returned,  with  compound 
interest,  so  many  blows.  Upon  the  least  suspicion 
of  anything  wrong  in  the  ranks,  he  thought  nothing 
of  moving  promptly  over  to  the  other  side.  I  have 
sometimes  wondered  if  he  broiled  the  venison  and 
uncorked  the  champagne  with  the  same  alacrity  at 
the  Democratic  headquarters ;  and  I  am  certain 
that  he  would  be  welcomed  back  again  with  no  end 
of  cheers  by  his  old  associates,  only  too  glad  to  for- 
get and  to  forgive,  if  there  were  anything  to  be 
forgiven. 

At  the  Cornhill-square  dinners  Governor  John  A. 
Andrew  was  always  welcome  when  present,  and 
much  missed  when  absent.  He  was  the  most  hon- 
est, genial,  and  generous  of  men.  He  was  firm  in 
his  convictions,  without  bigotry ;  thoroughly  con- 
scientious, without  asceticism  or  narrowness ;  and 
had  been  kept  out  of  public  employment  for  several 
years  by  a  stern  integrity  which  nothing  could 
shake.  He  seemed  of  too  sweet  a  nature  for  politi- 
cal strife,  but  though  he  could  be  as  gentle  as  a 
woman,  he  was  easily  aroused  to  righteous  wrath  by 
any  tale  of  wrong  or  cruelty.  When  the  Mas- 
sachusetts soldiers  were  slaughtered  in  the  streets  of 


OLD  PARTIES  AND  POLITICIANS,          157 

Baltimore  by  a  disloyal  mob,  it  was  Governor  An- 
drew who  telegraphed  that  their  bodies  should  be 
"  tenderly  "  cared  for  at  the  expense  of  the  State. 
Of  his  record  as  "  a  war  governor  "  it  is  not  neces- 
sary for  me  to  say  one  word.  All  the  country  knows 
how  noble  and  entirely  satisfactory  it  is.  It  must 
be  remembered  that  Governor  Andrew  was  an 
original  Abolitionist,  or  Liberty  party  man,  when  to 
be  such  was  to  surrender  hope  of  much  brilliant 
professional  success  in  Boston.  He  could  always 
say,  as  Theodore  Parker  did,  "When  the  laws  of 
Massachusetts  or  the  laws  of  the  Union  conflict 
with  the  laws  of  God,  I  would  keep  God's  law  in 
preference,  though  the  heavens  should  fall"  The 
people  of  Massachusetts  were  only  too  glad  to  make 
such  a  man  their  governor,  by  the  largest  vote  ever 
cast  for  any  candidate  for  the  office.  There  was  no 
prominent  Republican  in  Massachusetts  who  made 
a  cleaner  record.  His  moral  courage  was  refreshing, 
when  so  many  were  willing  to  do  evil  that  good 
might  come.  When  his  party  passed  their  prohibi- 
tory law,  he,  who  did  not  pretend  to  be  a  total  ab- 
stinence man,  but  whose  political  and  personal 
associations  were  mainly  with  the  temperance  people, 
did  not  hesitate  to  oppose  the  law  which  he  regarded 
as  an  infraction  of  liberty,  nor  did  he  refuse  a  re- 
tainer from  the  trade  when  his  services  were  desired 
before  the  legislative  committee.  He  died  too  soon 
for  the  State,  for  his  friends,  for  that  great  public 
usefulness  of  which  he  was  capable ;  and  he  left  be- 
hind him  no  citizen  more  thoroughly  upright  and 
more  universally  beloved. 


158       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND   ORATORS. 

CHARLES  SUMNER.  —  WILLIAM  H.  SEWARD.  — THE  BOSTON  CON- 
SERVATIVES. —  GEORGE  S.  HILLARD.  —  FREDERICK  DOUGLASS 
AND  THE  GARRISONIANS. 

IN"  the  present  chapter  I  shall  continue  to  speak 
mainly  of  men.  Events  are  usually  better  re- 
membered than  those  who  were  actors  in  them  ;  and 
even  of  characters  whose  record  is  prominent  in  his- 
tory, the  memory  soon  becomes  mythical  and  dim. 
The  recollections  of  a  contemporary,  however  unim- 
portant they  may  otherwise  be,  may  have  some  value 
and  some  interest  —  if  nothing  be  extenuated  and 
nothing  set  down  in  malice  —  as  the  impressions  of 
one  who  had  an  opportunity  of  personally  studying 
those  whom  he  attempts  to  portray. 

The  Republican  party  was  predestinate;  the 
Massachusetts  Coalition  was  but  an  episode  in  the 
steady  and  ceaseless  march  of  the  inevitable.  From 
any  abstract  moral  standpoint,  it  was  indefensible, 
and  it  was  particularly  open  to  attack  because  it 
made  large  pretensions  to  superior  conscientiousness, 
and  talked  with  peculiar  volubility  of  the  shame  of 
doing  evil  that  good  might  come.  After  all  these 
changes  in  the  body  politic,  many  of  which  I  regard 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   159 

not  merely  with  approbation  but  profound  gratitude, 
my  opinion  of  the  Massachusetts  Coalition  of  1851, 
which  I  afterwards  opposed  to  the  best  of  my 
humble  ability,  is  not  changed.  It  sent  Mr.  Sumner 
to  the  Senate ;  but  he  would  have  gone  there  soon 
enough  without  recourse  to  dubious  methods.  He 
began  his  public  life  as  a  Whig.  Most  clever 
young  men  of  the  State  did  the  same.  But  he  was 
from  the  start  a  man  of  dissent.  I  do  not  believe 
that  there  was-  any  selfish  method  in  what  was  de- 
nounced as  his  radical  madness  by  the  smug  con- 
servatism of  Boston ;  but  I  do  think  that  he  had  a 
native  love  of  attracting  attention,  and  that  he 
gravitated  naturally  to  startling  opposition.  He 
first  made  a  noise  as  a  peace  man ;  and  his  oration 
given  in  Boston  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  1845,  on 
"  The  True  Grandeur  of  Nations,"  in  which  he  de- 
nounced not  only  war  but  preparations  for  war,  gave 
great  offence  to  the  young  Boston  gentlemen  who 
held  commissions  or  marched  as  privates  in  the 
crack  volunteer  companies  of  that  city,  —  "  The 
Tigers,"  "  The  Cadets,"  "  The  Ancient  and  Honorable 
Artillery."  The  oration  made  much  fuss,  and  helped 
to  embitter  the  hard  feeling  with  which  Mr.  Sum- 
ner was  afterwards  regarded  in  particular  circles. 
Naturally,  he  became  one  of  the  Conscience  Whigs, 
—  those  honest  folk  who  made  the  State  Conven- 
tions of  the  party  uncomfortable.  The  lines  were 
soon  and  straightly  drawn.  Mr.  Sumner,  the  pet 
of  Judge  Story,  the  lecturer  at  the  Harvard  Law 


REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

• 

School,  the  editor  of  "  The  American  Jurist,"  went 
over  to  the  Free  Soil  party  in  1848,  and  spoke  and 
voted  for  Mr.  Van  Buren.  Beacon  Street  was  aghast, 
as  it  had  reason  to  be.  It  was  still  more  painfully 
astonished  when,  three  years  after,  the  Democrats 
and  Free  Soilers  sent  this  bolting,  higher-law  man 
to  occupy  the  old  chair  of  Daniel  "Webster.  The 
political  history  of  the  senator  from  that  time  for- 
ward is  too  well  known  to  require  a  new  narrative 
here.  After  the  brutal  assault  which?  he  sustained 
in  1856  at  the  murderous  hands  of  Preston  S.  Brooks, 
he  was  never  the  same  man.  Something  of  his 
youthful,  salient  force  was  gone,  and  he  was  con- 
stantly laboring  under  the  disadvantages  of  ill 
health.  He  had  not  originally  that  practical  ca- 
pacity for  public  affairs  which  distinguished  his 
colleague,  Mr.  Wilson;  and  the  tendency  of  his 
oratorical  efforts  was  rather  toward  the  judicial  than 
the  forensic.  There  was  the  least  touch  of  the  ped- 
antic in  his  speeches,  and  just  a  suspicion  of  arro- 
•gance  in  their  delivery.  He  was  himself  greatly 
self  sustained  with  such  a  feeling  that  he  was  right 
that  it  amounted  to  complacency.  He  was  a  scholar, 
and  he  put  too  much  scholarship  into  his  senatorial 
addresses.  Great  orator  as  he  was,  he  neither  pos- 
sessed nor  claimed  any  remarkable  ability  as  a 
debater.  He  moved  slowly,  and  did  his  fine  things 
with  careful  elaboration.  It  was  no  credit  to  the 
Republican  party  of  Massachusetts  that  a  faction  of 
it  would  have  been  glad  to  remove  him  from  the 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   161 

Senate ;  if  he  was  in  any  danger  of  that  indignity, 
after  his  noLle  support  of  Mr.  Greeley  for  the  presi- 
dency in  1872,  as  I  suppose  that  he  was,  death 
kindly  saved  him  from  the  mortification.  His  last 
years  were  variously  and  cruelly  embittered ;  it  was 
all  a  tragic  ending  of  a  career  so  brilliantly  begun. 
The  last  time  I  saw  him  was  in  the  Tribune  office 
during  the  canvass  of  1872.  As  he  sat  waiting  for 
the  editor,  whom  he  wished  to  see,  I  glanced  at 
him  from  my  desk,  with  a  feeling  of  pain  such  as  I 
have  seldom  experienced  respecting  a  public  man. 
The  day  was  warm,  and  he  had  evidently  been  ex- 
hausted by  the  toil  of  mounting  the  stairs.  "  Eheu  ! 
quantum  mutatus  ab  illo  !  "  I  said  to  myself  as  I 
saw  how  hard  fortune  had  broken  that  noble  form, 
and  bitter  experiences,  public  and  private,  stolen  its 
muscular  elasticity.  I  remembered  him,  standing 
sturdily  upon  our  old  platforms,  almost  arrogant 
in  the  consciousness  of  intellectual  and  physical 
strength,  full  of  early  vigor,  and  dilating  with  the 
courage  of  opinion,  —  the  Ajax  about  whom  the 
young  men  of  Massachusetts  rallied  for  many  a 
moral  contest,  arid  followed  in  the  onset  of  many 
a  forlorn  political  hope.  This,  then,  was  what  they 
had  brought  him  to, —  the  murderous,  man-stealing 
oligarchy  !  This  was  the  martyr  made  so  by  "the 
institution  "  in  that  last  death-throe,  when  it  could 
argue  no  longer,  but  could  only  wildly  and  fero- 
ciously strike  !  All  criticism  of  the  man  and  of  his 
methods,  however  much  I  might  be  disposed  to  in- 
11 


162       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

dulge  in  it,  was  silenced  by  that  spectacle.  I  might 
doubt  much  else ;  I  might  question  whether  Mr. 
Sumner  had  always  been  wise  in  debate ;  whether 
his  passion  for  justice  had  not  led  him  to  say  things 
better  left  unsaid ;  whether  he  had  not  just  a  trace 
of  the  dilettante  in  his  great  nature;  whether  he 
was  not  somewhat  predisposed  to  personal  com- 
plaint :  but  I  should  as  soon  question  the  sun-rise, 
or  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  or  the  Copernican 
system,  as  his  entire  and  perfect  integrity.  There 
never  was  a  man  upon  whom  the  harness  of  party 
sat  so  loosely.  He  began  by  bolting ;  he  went  on 
bolting ;  as  a  bolter  he  ended.  The  Republicans  of 
Massachusetts,  who  would  never  have  been  a  party 
at  all  if  he  and  a  few  other  men  had  not  dared  to 
act  and  speak  for  themselves,  are  now  a  little 
shocked  when  any  of  their  great  associates  show 
signs  of  restive  disloyalty;  but  they  found  long 
before  he  died  that  Mr.  Sunnier  was  not  to  be 
managed  nor  coaxed  nor  driven  into  saying  or 
doing  anything  which  his  unimpaired  conscience  did 
not  approve.  When  Mr.  Eliot  offered  a  resolution 
for  the  repeal  of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  in  the 
House  of  Representatives,  having  the  misfortune  to 
be  a  Whig,  the  Free  Soilers  and  Democrats  of  the 
first  Massachusetts  District,  who  wanted  to  turn 
Mr.  Eliot  out  and  to  put  in  their  own  man,  de- 
nounced the  resolution  as  imprudent  and  premature. 
Such  were  the  tricks  even  of  philanthrophic  politi- 
cians who  made  much  of  their  delicate  sense  of 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   163 

truth  and  justice.  Then  editing  a  newspaper  which 
was  proud  to  support  Mr.  Eliot,  I  thought  of  one 
way  of  silencing  these  fastidious  gentry.  I  boldly 
wrote  to  Mr.  Sumner,  then  the  demi-god  of  the 
Free  Soil  people,  and  asked  him  if  he  thought  Mr. 
Eliot's  motion  to  have  been  imprudent  and  prema- 
ture. The  result  showed  that  I  had  not  mis- 
taken the  man.  Mr.  Sumner  was  not  at  all  afraid 
of  having  such  a  member  as  Thomas  D.  Eliot  re- 
elected  to  Congress.  I  got  the  answer  which  I 
wanted  by  return  mail,  and  it  was  exactly  what 
I  had  anticipated.  "  I  entirely  approve  the  course 
of  Mr.  Eliot,"  wrote  Mr.  Sumner.  "  Why  should  I 
disapprove  it  when  it  is  that  which  I  have  myself 
pursued  in  the  Senate  ? "  I  printed  the  letter,  and 
silenced  the  people  over  at  the  other  office,  at  least 
upon  that  point.  "  You  will  not  get  another  letter 
from  Mr.  Sumner,"  said  their  editor,  with  a  suffu- 
sion of  gall  in  his  countenance;  "he  has  been 
written  to."  I  laughed  at  him.  "  You  do  not  know 
Mr.  Sumner,"  I  said,  "  as  well  as  I  do.  I  can  get 
twenty  letters  from  the  senator,  if  there  should  be 
the  like  occasion  for  writing  them.  He  has  a  con- 
science ;  but  you  others  —  well,  how  is  it  with 
you  ?  "  If  I  have  dwelt  too  long  upon  the  character 
and  conduct  of  this  great  man,  it  has  been  because, 
of  all  the  public  persons  whom  it  has  been  my 
good  or  ill  fortune  to  know,  he  seems  to  me,  after 
the  lapse  of  all  these  years,  one  of  the  brightest 
and  purest.  Scholar,  orator,  philanthropist,  re- 


164      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

former,  jurist,  lawyer  and  law-maker,  he  was  never 
a  mere  politician,  for  which  let  us  thank  God  and 
take  courage ! 

If  there  is  anything  which  confirms  my  belief  in 
the  general  tendency  of  human  nature  toward  the 
honest  and  the  honorable,  it  is  a  contemplation  of 
the  public  career  of  William  H.  Seward.  I  doubt 
if  he  was  trained  in  a  good  political  school.  John 
Adams,  sitting,  in  his  old  age,  over  his  old  folios  in 
Quincy,  bitterly  remembering  and  sometimes  speak- 
ing bitterly,  was  wont  to  complain  with  sufficient 
frankness  of  the  corruption  and  the  self-seeking  of 
New- York  politics ;  and  curiously  to  speculate,  as  he 
rayed  out  the  conclusions  of  his  political  wisdom, 
whether  his  son,  John  Quincy  Adams,  could  possibly 
be  elected  to  the  presidency  with  New  York  against 
him.  Mr.  Seward  certainly  began  his  public  life 
under  temptations  to  swerve  from  the  path  of  strict 
political  honesty,  which  might  have  proved  fatal  to 
a  less  virtuous  character.  But  the  man  was  finer 
than  his  surroundings.  He  seemed  always  to  be 
trying  to  get  away  from  the  schemers  and  the 
shufflers,  the  intriguers  and  the  tricksters.  If  he 
started  with  some  use  of  the  anti-Masonic  excite- 
ment, when  he  was  hardly  thirty  years  of  age,  to 
secure  a  seat  in  the  New- York  Senate,  he  grew 
speedily  \viser  and  larger  in  all  his  ways  and 
methods.  It  is  no  part  of  my  present  purpose  to 
write  elaborately  of  his  political  career ;  but  I  wish 
to  express,  not  for  the  first  time,  the  conviction  that 


STATESMEN,' POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   165 

Mr.  Seward  could  seldom,  in  his  whole  public  life, 
for  a  moment,  however  tempted,  divest  himself  in 
his  action  of  his  strict  love  of  right.  He  seemed 
always  to  move  about  in  an  atmosphere  of  integrity ; 
and  I  am  honestly  of  the  opinion  that,  to  this  day, 
inaugre  his  great  services  at  critical  periods,  the 
man  is  not  honored  and  admired  as  he  should  be.  I 
sometimes  wish  that  we  had  him  now.  But  I  am 
wandering  from  the  path  which  I  have  proposed  to 
myself:  let  me  return  to  the  record.  I  have  in 
my  mind's  eye  a  picture  which  I  may  endeavor, 
however  inadequately,  to  reproduce.  It  was  upon  a 
dreary  day  in  December,  1855,  that  my  friend, 
Colonel  Ezra  Lincoln,  said  to  me  in  Boston,  "  Mr. 
Seward  is  at  the  Tremont  House.  Let  us  go  up  and 
see  him."  Mr.  Seward  was  on  his  way  to  Plymouth, 
where,  upon  the  coming  Forefathers'  Day,  he  was  to 
deliver  the  oration.  I  was  only  too  happy  to  accept 
the  invitation.  I  would  say  nothing  more  of  the 
interview  if  I  did  not  think  that  all  the  circum- 
stances afforded  some  illustrations  of  the  character 
and  career  of  Mr.  Seward.  We  found  the  senator 
and  statesman  solitary  and  alone,  sitting  by  the  fire 
in  the  gentleman's  parlor,  reading  a  book  which  was 
just  published,  and  which  proved  to  be  Lewes's 
"  Life  of  Goethe."  He  made  some  critical  remarks 
upon  the  work,  and  said  that  he  had  gone  down  that 
morning  to  Messrs.  Ticknor  &  Fields'  to  procure  it. 
With  some  lingering  literary  tastes  which  many 
years  of  hard,  practical  work  and  inadequate  culti- 


166       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

vation  had  failed  entirely  to  extinguish,  I  warmed  at 
once  to  a  member  of  Congress  who  cared  for  Goethe, 
and  could  find  consolation  in  reading  him  at  a  tavern- 
fire  on  a  foggy  December  morning.  I  thought  then 
that  Mr.  Seward  seemed  to  be  a  little  hurt  that 
nobody  had  before  called  upon  him ;  for  his  arrival 
had  been  announced  in  the  morning  newspapers. 

He  said,  "I  have  seen  nothing  of ,  nor  of , 

nor  of " ;  and  then,  shutting  his  book  with  a  mild 

emphasis,  he  asked  when  the  next  train  started  for 
Plymouth,  where  his  oration  was  the  day  following 
to  be  delivered.  I  am  in  doubt  whether  he  said, 
in  so  many  words,  that  he  was  anxious  to  be  away, 
but  I  caught  his  feeling  from  every  look  and  ges- 
ture. "I  knew  well  why  he  had  seen  nothing  of 

,  nor  of ,  nor  of .     The  reader,  if  he  will 

consider  the  date  (1855),  will  understand  why  Beacon 
Street  and  other  respectable  streets  of  the  West 
End  forgot  that  Mr.  Seward  was  in  town.  He  was 
emphatically  a  man  of  conscience,  and  conscience 
just  then  was  working  hard  to  hold  its  own  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  Tremont  House.  He  went  away  to 
speak  of  "  The  Pilgrims  and  Liberty,"  close  by  the 
Rock  of  the  Forefathers,  and  to  say  once  more,  as 
he  had  often  said,  that  fidelity  to  truth  was  the  only 
conservative  heroism.  It  was  something  to  have 
seen  him  only  the  day  before  he  said,  "Come  forward, 
then,  ye  nations,  states,  and  races, — rude,  savage, 
oppressed,  and  despised,  enslaved  or  mutually  war- 
ring among  yourselves  as  ye  are,  —  upon  whom  the 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   167 

morning  star  of  civilization  hath  either  not  yet 
dawned,  or  hath  only  dimly  broken  amid  clouds  and 
storms,  and  receive  the  assurance  its  shining  shall 
yet  be  complete,  and  its  light  be  poured  down  on  all 
alike."  Those  who  in  the  least  comprehend  Mr. 
Seward's  character  will  also  comprehend  why  I 
venture  to  quote  the  words.  When  the  telegraph 
brought  to  us  the  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Mr. 
Seward,  I  had  occasion  to  take  a  rapid  survey  of  his 
public  career.  The  labor  was  favorable  to  a  vivid 
estimate  of  his  character,  nor  could  I  fail  to  be 
impressed  by  evidences  of  a  tender  humanity  which 
at  first  softened  and  then  elevated  his  nature.  It 
was  not  by  accident  nor  through  any  design  of  the 
self-seeking  politician  that  he  was  so  often  found 
upon  the  side  of  the  weak,  the  helpless,  and  the 
depressed ;  that  in  courts  of  justice  "he  was  so  fre- 
quently the  advocate  of  those  who  but  for  him 
might  have  been  without  one ;  that  he  never  failed 
in  season  or  out  of  season,  to  enter  his  protest  against 
the  cruelty  of  caste  distinctions ;  and  that  he  was 
among  the  first  of  our  great  men  to  recognize  the 
true  nature  of  the  antislavery  discussion,  and  to 
point  out  the  inevitable  conflict  which  was  at  hand. 
He  had  temptations  enough  at  certain  times  to  have 
gone  to  the  wrong  side,  if  he  had  been  simply 
selfish.  He  desired  the  presidency  as  other  public 
men,  not  a  few,  have  for  some  reason,  to  me  inscrut- 
able, desired  it :  but  when  so  many  were-  conceding, 
he  made  no  concession ;  when  compromise  was  held 


168       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

to  be  the  test  of  patriotism,  he  scorned  to  compro- 
mise ;  and  he  kept  up  with  the  progress  of  public 
opinion  always,  and  generally  he  was  in  advance  of 
it.  His  greatest  services  to  the  republic  were  his 
last ;  and  the  masterly  manner  in  which  he  managed 
the  foreign  affairs  of  the  country  in  the  hour  of  its 
mortal  peril,  and  when  consummate  ability,  cease- 
less vigilance,  and  unbending  firmness  alone  saved 
us  from  a  foreign  war,  will  pass  into  the  history  of 
these  times,  and  as  honorably  perpetuate  his  name 
as  if  he  had  been  elected  President,  and  elected 
President  again. 

Boston  was  at  that  time  passing,  at  a  pace  which 
to  some  of  us  seemed  singularly  retarded,  from  the 
unreasoning  conservatism  which  books  and  thought 
and  the  inevitable  catastrophe  which  was  impending 
had  failed  to  "enlighten.  There  were  men  in  the 
pulpit,  at  the  bar,  or  engaged  in  other  liberal  avoca- 
tions, who  utterly  failed  to  appreciate  the  situation, 
and  among  the  most  polished  and  cultivated  of 
these  was  Mr.  George  Stillman  Hillard.  He  was 
contemporary  with  Mr.  Sumner  at  Harvard  College, 
graduating  two  years  before  him,  and  each  had  an 
excellent  prospect  of  success  in  public  life.  If  any- 
body had  thought  it  worth  while  to  make  wagers 
upon  the  future  achievements  of  these  young  men, 
I  suppose  that  the  odds  would  have  been  about 
equal.  It  was  only  when  the  time  for  moral  muscle 
arrived  that  the  superiority  of  Mr.  Sumner's  fibre 
became  observable.  In  the  storm  of  politics  which 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   169 

soon  came,  Mr.  Hillard,  who  could  write  brilliant 
essays,  construct  clever  books,  which  the  committees 
were  only  too  glad  to  introduce  into  the  schools, 
tell  in  elegant  language  of  his  travels  in  Italy, 
and  critically  collate  the  works  of  Walter  Savage 
Landor,  proved  how  little  he  understood  the  science 
of  public  affairs.  I  take  him,  with  all  his  merits,  as 
a  type.  He  had  read  in  a  week  more  books,  per- 
haps, than  Mr.  Henry  Wilson  had  read  in  his  life- 
time ;  but  all  of  them  together  had  not  given  him 
the  wisdom  which  the  shoemaker  had  brought  from 
his  bench  to  the  State  House.  As  the  battle  raged 
more  and  more  fiercely,  it  was  a  positive  pain  to 
hear  Mr.  Hillard  talk.  He  thought  that  all  might 
be  serene  again  if  only  people  would  hold  their 
tongues,  if  only  Boston  would  send  back  fugitive 
slaves  without  making  any  foolish  fuss  about  the 
matter ;  if  public  men  would  read  Burke  and  "  The 
Boston  Courier,"  and  profit  by  the  reading ;  if  the 
compromise  measures  were  treated  with  obedient 
respect;  if  voters  would  vote  with  the  moribund 
Whig  party,  for  Bell  and  Everett,  and  not  for 
Lincoln.  With  revolution  at  hand,  with  civil  war 
impending,  with  the  hearts  of  men  full  of  indigna- 
tion and  protest,  this  amiable  Harvard  scholar  went 
on  smiling  and  elegantly  protesting,  and  wondering 
why  his  fellow-creatures  should  be  so  restive.  It 
was  as  if  some  unhappy  victim  of  the  flood,  perched 
upon  a  rock  not  quite  submerged,  had  delivered  a 
neat  address,  with  many  classical  allusions,  upon 


170       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

the  utter  immorality  of  rain-water.  There  was  no 
fault  to  find  with  these  belated  gentlemen,  these 
Boston  Whigs  who  fell,  without  a  murmur  and  out 
of  sheer  fright,  into  the  beckoning  arms  of  the 
Democratic  party,  —  no  fault  whatever,  except  that 
they  were  children  in  such  a  crisis,  and  should  have 
been  born  in  the  last  century  or  in  the  next.  They 
were  not  exactly  weak;  there  was  nothing  feeble 
about  Mr.  George  Lunt  and  Mr.  George  T.  Curtis 
and  Mr.  Eufus  Choate  and  the  Eev.  Dr.  Adams, 
who  was  Mr.  Choate's  conscience-keeper,  and  allowed 
the  lawyer  small  use  of  his  own  property, —  nothing 
feeble  except  their  eye-sight,  which  would  not  see 
the  near  future,  and  their  ear-shot,  which  failed  to 
reach  the  roar  of  the  approaching  hurricane.  Of 
these  deluded  persons,  Mr.  Hillard  wTas  not  the 
blindest  and  the  deafest.  He  seemed  sometimes  to 
have  some  faint  inkling  of  what  was  coming ;  but 
he  only  put  on  his  greatcoat,  bought  a  new  umbrella, 
and  then  went  back  to  his  Italian  studies.  He  was 
the  man  who  charged  Mr.  Eichard  Henry  Dana,  Jr., 
in  debate,  with  spurning  the  hand  which  fed  him ; 
meaning  no  harm,  but  merely  intending  to  insinuate 
that,  as  Mr.  Dana  made  his  money  by  practising  law 
in  Boston,  he  ought  therefore  to  be  a  pro-Slavery, 
Compromise,  Webster  Whig.  Mr.  Dana  grew  sev- 
eral inches  taller  as  he  retorted, "  No  hand  feeds  me !" 
And  Mr.  Hillard  grew  several  inches  shorter,  and 
remained  so  ever  after. 

I  have   spoken   of  several  distinguished  white 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.   171 

orators ;  let  me  mention  one  who  was  not  of  that 
favored  class.  It  was  my  good  fortune  to  listen  to 
the  earliest  rhetorical  efforts  of  a  man  who  has  since 
won  wide  fame  as  a  public  speaker ;  and  I  question 
whether  any  of  his  later  speeches  have  surpassed  in 
natural  vigor  and  a  certain  indescribable  race  those 
which  Frederick  Douglass  made  while  he  was  still 
a  day-laborer  upon  the  piers,  or  was  engaged  in  the 
still  humbler  occupation  of  whitewashing  in  New- 
Bedford,  Mass.  He  became  the  most  notable  of 
all  the  fugitive  slaves  who  sought  that  well-known 
asylum  of  the  oppressed.  We  had  hundreds  of  these 
self-emancipated  people  in  the  town,  and  a  thrifty 
and  well-behaved  class  they  were ;  but  none  of  them 
won  the  celebrity  of  Mr.  Douglass.  If  he  could 
read  and  write  at  all,  when  he  came  to  us,  it  was 
very  little  of  either ;  but  he  worked  hard  to  make 
up  for  his  lack  of  early  culture,  and  he  soon  won 
the  confidence  and  respect,  not  only  of  his  neighbors, 
but  of  the  antislavery  men  and  women  throughout 
the  State.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  was 
persuaded  to  address  a  meeting  called  to  .consider 
the  case  of  the  fugitive,  George  Latimer,  which  was 
then  exciting  the  whole  commonwealth ;  but  he  had 
not  spoken  five  minutes  before  I  saw  that  he  was 
an  uncommon  man.  As  he  went  on,  warming  with 
his  topic,  he  not  only  exhibited  no  hesitation,  but 
poured  forth  choice  and  unique  words  with  a  skill 
and  copiousness  which  left  hardly  anything  to  be 
desired ;  and  when  he  described  the  poor  runaway, 


172       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

clinging  to  the  "base  of  Bunker  Hill  Monument, 
shrieking  in  vain  for  succor  to  the  God  of  liberty 
upon  the  free  soil  of  Massachusetts,  he  evoked  from 
the  audience  a  response  which  was  a  perfect  storm 
of  applause.  His  was  pure  natural  oratory,  requir- 
ing no  allowances,  and  as  free  from  turgidity  and 
bad  taste  as  if  he  had  been  trained  in  the  severe 
school  of  Webster,  or  had  studied  to  good  purpose 
the  classical  orations  of  Edward  Everett.  I  could 
almost  fancy  that  I  heard  some  well-booted  Grecian 
arguing  of  the  leaguer  of  Troy.  Mr.  Douglass  had 
a  native  quickness  which  even  then  he  frequently 
exhibited,  and  which,  if  he  had  been  called  to'  the 
duties  of  legislation,  must  have  won  for  him  a  high 
reputation  as  a  debater.  His  presence  of  mind  was 
perfect.  Antislavery  speeches  were  then  frequently 
interrupted,  but  the  sharpest  of  such  intruders  never 
meddled  with  Mr.  Douglass  without  being  sorry  for 
the  temerity.  I  recall  an  instance  of  his  quickness. 
He  had  been  speaking  with  more  plainness  than 
urbanity  of  Northern  dough-faces  and  dirt-eaters, 
and  had  quoted  against  them  the  text,  "And  the 
Lord  God  said  unto  the  serpent,  Because  thou  hast 
done  this,  thou  art  cursed  above  all  cattle,  and 
above  every  beast  of  the  field ;  upon  thy  belly  shalt 
thou  go,  and  dust  shalt  thou  eat  all  the  days  of  thy 
life."  Pretty  soon  Mr.  Douglass  said  something 
which  provoked  the  inevitable  hiss.  Drawing  him- 
self up  to  his  full  height,  and  pointing  to  the  place 
from  which  the  sibilant  sound  had  proceeded,  he 


STATESMEN,  POLITICIANS,  AND  ORATORS.  173 

exclaimed,  "  I  told  you  so !  Upon  thy  belly  shalt 
thou  go,  dust  shalt  thou  eat,  and  hiss  all  the  days  of 
thy  life."  The  interpolated  words  gave  the  text  an 
additional  point,  and  the  gentleman  who  had  hissed, 
hissed  no  more  that  night.  This  reminds  me  of 
what  poor  Harry  Clapp  said  in  his  abolition  days, 
when  he  too  was  hissed,  as,  I  am  bound  to  say,  he 
delighted  to  be :  "  There  is  always  that  sound  when 
the  waters  of  truth  drop  into  the  fires  of  hell,"  —  a 
remark  which  secured  quiet  and  good  order  for  at 
least  fifteen  minutes.  The  abolitionists  of  those 
days  liked  to  say  startling  things,  and  did  not 
always  exhibit  the  best  taste.  I  suppose  that  they 
would  have  argued  that  truth  was  better  than  taste ; 
but  it  never  seemed  to  occur  to  them  that  overstate- 
ment of  truth  might  be  substantial  falsehood.  One 
might  be  a  pretty  good  antislavery  man ;  but  if  he 
sa^  fit  to  vote,  and  did  not  see  fit  to  shriek  for  a 
dissolution  of  the  Union,  he  was  usually  set  down 
as  no  better  than  a  man-owner,  with  the  unpleasant 
aggravation  of  being  a  hypocrite.  I  have  long  for- 
given these  harsh  judgments ;  nobody  can  be  more 
willing  to  admit  than  I  am  the  extraordinary  ser- 
vices of  Mr.  Garrison  and  his  friends,  but  I  am 
sorry  that  they  should  have  thought  us  in  the  gall 
of  bitterness  and  the  bond  of  iniquity,  and  that 
they  should  not  better  have  comprehended  that  they 
had  no  monopoly  of  benevolence,  of  philanthropy, 
and  of  political  wisdom. 


174:      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  DRAMATIC   EPISODE. 

THE  STAGE  FORTY  YEARS  AGO  AND  Now.  —  CLARA  FISHER. 

—  WILLIAM  F.   GATES.  —  THOMAS  HAMBLIN.  " —  A  HEAVY 
VILLAIN.  —  THE  OLD  TRAGIC  ACTRESSES.  —  MRS.  SLOMAN. 

—  THE  ELDER  BOOTH. 

MAY  I  be  permitted  to  evade  for  a  moment  the 
splendors  and  the  squalors  of  political  annals, 
—  to  pass  from  the  reality  of  affairs,  if  only  for  a 
single  chapter,  to  the  mimic  scenes  of  the  drama  ? 
Having  been  in  my  time  a  constant  haunter  of  play- 
houses, I  now  hardly  once  a  year  see  the  curtain  go 
up  and  down,  "  slow  falling  to  the  prompter's  bell." 
I  content  myself  with  reading  the  illustrated  posters 
upon  the  hoardings,  and  the  lively  and  admirable 
criticisms  of  my  friend,  the  first  of  dramatic  critics, 
Mr.  William  Winter,  whose  word  I  do  not  fear  to 
take.  When,  now  and  then,  somebody  gives  me  a 
pass,  or  I  spare  a  few  shillings  and  go  inside,  I  am 
pretty  sure  to  come  away  irritated,  or  at  best  unsat- 
isfied. Those  who  should  know  assure  me  that  it 
is  my  own  fault ;  that  the  stage  is  as  brilliant,  that 
the  players  are  as  good  as  ever ;  that  I  am  a  pother- 
ing old  sexagenarian,  with  predestinate  doubts  of 
the  present,  and  that  sad,  strong  yearning  for  the 


A  DRAMATIC  EPISODE.  175 

past  which  comes  to  most,  if  only  they  live  long 
enough  and  attend  the  requisite  number  of  fune- 
rals. Perhaps  so.  I  do  not  care  to  talk  much 
about  it.  I  only  shake  my  gray  locks  at  them,  and 
still  ask  the  privilege  of  doubting.  But  is  there 
anybody,  however  old,  who  has  forgotten  his  first 
play,  about  which  Elia  wrote  so  sweetly,  —  the  en- 
chantment which  lasted  such  a  little  while,  the 
magian  splendor  of  the  scene,  the  thrill  which  filled 
his  heart  at  the  heroic,  the  sweet,  impulsive,  inno- 
cent laughter  with  which  he  greeted  the  comedy  ? 
In  1838  Dr.  Wayland  stood  up,  clothed  in  his  com- 
pletest  official  terrors,  and  warned  us  not  to  go  to 
the  Dorrance  Street  Theatre,  which  that  night  was 
to  restore  the  drama  to  Providence.  He  said  that 
if  he  heard  of  any  students  who  were  professors  of 
religion  attending  the  play,  he  should  report  them 
to  their  respective  churches ;  those  delinquents  who 
were  yet  unconverted  he  threatened  with  suspen- 
sion. We  listened  with  due  gravity,  and  those  who 
had  tickets  for  the  performance  in  their  pockets 
were  especially  solemn.  We  went,  all  the  same, 
with  only  the  precaution  of  a  little  disguise.  I  my- 
self borrowed  another  man's  coat,  and  the  friend  who 
went  with  me,  now  a  grave  lawyer,  tied  back  his 
long  hair.  When  fairly  within  the  mysterious  walls, 
I  thought  it  the  most  beautiful  place  which  my  eyes 
had  ever  seen ;  in  my  memory,  as  I  do  not  mind 
saying,  it  is  still  most  beautiful. 

The  opening  address,  which  was  written  by  Mrs. 


176       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

Sarah  Helen  Whitman,  was  spoken  by  Mrs.  Maeder, 
the  Clara  Fisher  who,  in  her  childhood  and  girlhood, 
had  delighted,  upon  both  sides  of  the  sea,  so  many 
audiences.  She  played  that  night  the  Widow  Cheer- 
ly  in  "  The  Soldier's  Daughter,"  old  Manager  Cherry's 
old-fashioned  comedy.  She  had  not  then  lost  alto- 
gether her  girlish  esprit.  She  came  gliding  upon 
the  scene  full  of  life  and  laughter,  a  perfect  mistress 
of  her  art,  so  that  we  deemed  every  motion  graceful 
and  every  tone  delicious.  Her  early  theatrical  train- 
ing had  made  her  an  adept  in  all  the  business  of 
the  stage  ;  she  was  still  a  little  queen,  or  at  least 
we  thought  so,  —  we  boys  gazing  at  her  from  the  pit. 
She  was  at  once  pathetic  and  humorous,  now  serious 
and  then  full  of  badinage  and  elasticity,  always 
showing  traces  of  that  dainty  taste  and  nalvettf 
which  years  before  had  turned  the  heads  of  num- 
berless young  gentlemen.  We  did  not  mind  how 
old  she  was  —  she  was  young  enough  for  us.  Her 
husband  was  one  of  the  managers  of  the  theatre,  and 
she  worked  like  a  slave  all  through  the  season  to 
sustain  its  dubious  fortunes,  playing  everything, — 
from  Desdemona  to  Myrtillo  in  "  The  Broken  Sword" ; 
and,  as  the  receipts  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  she 
toiled  cheerfully,  though  perhaps  she  had  some  sad 
recollections  of  the  time  when  a  mob  gathered  about 
the  box-office  to  secure  tickets  for  her  performances, 
and  when  hornpipes  and  the  four-footed  favorites  of 
the  turf  were  named  after  her  both  in  England  and 
America.  Turn  over  any  rubbishy  lot  of  old  plays 


A  DRAMATIC  EPISODE.  177 

in  a  second-hand  bookstore,  and  the  odds  are  that  you 
will  find  her  portrait  in  character.  She  outlived  her 
girlish  glories ;  but  it  must  have  been  to  her  some 
consolation  that  she  had  been  so  universally  and 
justly  admired,  and  had  given  so  many  pleasure- 
seekers  innocent  and  refined  enjoyment.  In  spite 
of  the  temptations  which  beset  her,  she  kept  her 
honest  name ;  and  those  who  talk  foolishly  about 
the  immorality  of  the  stage  may  be  surprised  and 
perhaps  pained  to  learn  that  she  was  a  good  wife,  a 
good  mother,  and  a  good  woman  altogether. 

The  Jonathan  Quaint  of  the  evening  was  Mr. 
William  F.  Gates,  always  a  favorite  in  New  York, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  Warren,  of  Boston,  the 
best  eccentric  comedian  whom  I  have  ever  seen.  In 
his  manner  Mr.  Gates  was  said  to  resemble  strongly 
Haiiey,  the  great  London  actor;  and  Ellen  Tree, 
who  went  down  to  the  Bowery  Theatre  when  she 
was  first  in  America,  expressly  to  see  him,  is  said 
to  have  exclaimed,  "  Good  Heavens  !  Harley  ! "  as 
he  came  on.  He  had  that  rather  necessary  quality 
of  a  comic  actor,  the  ability  to  excite  laughter.  He 
did  not  seem  to  have  a  single  grain  of  pathos  in  his 
composition ;  the  inflections  of  his  voice,  the  varia- 
tions of  his  physiognomy,  the  contortions  of  his 
limbs,  his  walking,  his  sitting,  his  entrance  and  his 
exit,  all  were  comic,  whatever  he  might  be  acting. 
He  had  the  talent  of  extracting  fun  from  the  least 
promising  character,  and  might  now,  if  living,  and 
engaged  for  the  purpose,  impart  hilarity  even  to  an 
12 


178      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

original  New  York  drama.  He  was  immense  in 
queer  valets  and  footmen,  —  those  droll  examples  of 
servility,  dishonesty,  and  eccentricity  with  which 
the  stage  then  abounded.  He  did  nothing  badly, 
and  whether  he  was  to  play  Touchstone  or  Dogberry 
or  The  First  Grave-Digger,  or  some  light  farcical 
character,  he  was  as  sure  of  our  roars  as  we  were  of 
our  diversion.  I  thought  no  part  could  be  as  funny 
in  the  text  as  he  made  it,  until  I  obtained  the  book, 
and  found  that  he  was  always  letter-perfect.  Per- 
haps there  is  to-day  in  New  York  some  venerable 
and  most  respectable  citizen,  who,  when  a  boy,  fre- 
quented the  old  Bowery  Theatre,  and  esteemed  "  Bill 
Gates  "  the  perfection  of  a  droll,  as  he  held  Thomas 
Hamblin  to  be  the  greatest  of  tragic  actors.  When 
Mr.  Hamblin  came  to  Providence  to  play  a  short 
engagement,  the  Bowery  had  just  undergone  its  pe- 
riodical conflagration,  while  New  York  was  in  the 
height  of  one  of  its  triennial  spasms  of  morality,  and 
had  discovered  that  the  actor,  for  so  many  years  a 
favorite,  and  justly  so,  was  a  licentious  person,  and 
quite  unfit  to  appear  before  the  pure  and  unspotted 
denizens  of  a  metropolitan  pit.  Very  abusive  arti- 
cles about  him  were  published  in  the  newspapers ; 
and  I  do  not  suppose  that  he  was  a  saint.  He  was, 
however,  when  he  saw  fit  to  be,  a  beautiful  actor  of 
elevated  tragedy,  of  the  true  Kemble  school.  Na- 
ture had  done  everything  for  him.  He  was  tall, 
finely  formed,  with  a  noble  head;  his  natural  air 
was  graceful  and  dignified.  Once  in  London,  before 


A  DRAMATIC  EPISODE.  179 

he  came  to  America,  he  played  Hamlet  in  the  place 
of  Elliston,  who  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  and 
his  performance  astonished  the  critics.  Parts  like 
William  Tell  and  Virginius  he  made  much  greater 
than  he  found  them ;  but  these  were  of  little  conse- 
quence compared  with  his  Othello,  which  was  a  fin- 
ished and  consummate  piece  of  acting  throughout. 
As  a  mere  affair  of  elocution,  I  have  never  heard 
surpassed  his  delivery  of  the  passage,  "  0,  now,  for- 
ever farewell  the  tranquil  mind ! "  But  it  was  in 
the  death  scene,  in  the  castle  chamber,  that  he  was 
especially  superior.  His  putting  of  the  question, 
"  Have  you  prayed  to-night,  Desdemoua  ? "  full  of 
mingled  indignation  and  pity,  was  like  the  boding 
cry  of  a  soul  in  despair,  yet  not  wholly  lost.  All 
through  this  terrible  and  trying  scene  the  actor  never 
for  a  moment  faltered ;  his  philosophical  sadness  in 
the  beginning  changing  at  last  into  that  overmaster- 
ing passion  which  made  him  deaf  and  blind  and 
pitiless,  until  all  was  done,  and  then  he  sobbed  out 
like  a  child,  "  My  wife  !  my  wife !  What  wife  ?  I 
have  no  wife."  This  was  acting  which  required 
no  allowances.  The  man  was  master  of  the  part. 
He  had  seen  it  performed  by  Kemble ;  he  had  given 
it  the  most  careful  study ;  whatever  he  did,  he  knew 
precisely  why  he  did  it ;  he  played  like  a  gentleman ; 
and  he  did  not  make  you  wonder  that  the  Venetian 
Senate  should  have  confided  important  civil  duties 
to  a  soldier  who  mispronounced  his  words,  swaggered 
as  if  he  had  all  his  life  been  one  of  the  pioneers,  and 


180       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

kept  his  hat  on  in-doors  and  in  the  presence  of 
ladies.  The  business  of  the  Bowery  compelled  Mr. 
Hamblin  to  present  all  manner  of  dramatic  absurdi- 
ties, in  some  of  which  he  did  not  hesitate  to  take 
part;  but  those  who  fancy  that  he  was  a  mere 
Bowery  actor,  full  of  sound  and  fury,  are  much 
mistaken. 

I  suppose  that  the  old-fashioned  melodrama  is 
gone  and  gone  forever.  With  its  fustian  and  blue 
fire ;  with  its  scenery  of  rocks  and  mountains  and 
woods  and  caverns  and  Swiss  cottages;  with  its 
consummate  villains,  and  village  girls  in  short  pet- 
ticoats; with  its  mixture  of  drollery  and  despera- 
tion, and  its  pirate  or  highwayman  dying  after  much 
methodical  floundering,  just  before  the  curtain  fell 
to  the  slow  wail  of  the  fiddles  and  the  groans  of  bas- 
soons, —  it  is  gone  !  It  required  a  particular  kind 
of  actor  to  play  the  heavy  villain,  of  the  true  burnt- 
cork  type,  in  these  miscellaneous  plays.  Usually 
he  wore  a  long  black  cloak  and  a  slouch  hat  with  a 
great  drooping  feather.  He  never  walked  as  other 
men  do.  His  passage  down  the  stage  was  slow  and 
studied.  It  was  necessary  that  his  arms  should  be 
folded,  and  that  he  should  pat  his  left  arm  with  the 
huge  buckskin  gauntlet  which  he  wore  upon  his 
right  hand.  Accoutred  thus,  with  measured  step, 
and  heel  brought  alternately  to  heel,  he  stole  upon 
his  homicidal  errand,  or  shuffled  to  the  footlights  to 
communicate  to  the  pit  the  information  that  he  was 
"a  villain,"  the  truth  of  which  disclosure  nobody 


A   DRAMATIC  EPISODE.  181 

cared  to  deny.  He  was  a  terrible  creature,  and 
made  a  deep  impression,  not  merely  upon  the  nov- 
ices, but  upon  old  patrons  of  the  play-house  who 
had  grown  to  like  his  methods.  Does  any  New 
York  reader  remember  a  Mr.  McCutcheon  —  a  pre- 
decessor of  the  great  Kirby  —  who  was  one  of  the 
heaviest  of  dramatic  villains  in  those  days  ?  Does 
anybody  remember  poor  John  Howard  Paine's 
"  Therese ;  or,  The  Orphan  of  Geneva  ? "  Forrest 
tried  the  part  of  Carwin  in  it.  when  he  was  a  young 
man,  and  a  most  bloody  and  murderous  wild  beast 
he  portrayed  ;  but  McCutcheon,  albeit  short  of  stat- 
ure, could  give  the  man-mountain  odds.  I  wish  I 
could  reproduce  in  words  the  hiss  and  roar,  the  min- 
gled groan  and  howl,  with  which  Mr.  McCutcheon 
addressed  the  Orphan.  She  had  not  expected  to 
meet  him,  and  had  naturally  exclaimed  when  she 
found  herself  in  his  libertine  grasp,  "  Carwin  here  ?  " 
How  she  trembled,  —  he  had  her  by  the  fair,  white 
shoulder,  —  while  he  spit  at  her  the  fearful  words, 
"Ay,  Car-win  here  !  Car- win  ev-er-y where  !  Wher- 
ever you  may  go,  whatever  hiding-place  you  may 
seek,  there  am  I  to  THUNDER  in  your  ear,  Ther- 
ee-ee-se ! "  The  lady,  I  am  happy  to  say,  escaped 
from  the  fangs  of  this  violent  monster  without  in- 
jury, for  she  danced  a  sailor's  hornpipe  fifteen  min- 
utes after  with  elastic  agility  and  in  true  nautical 
costume. 

As  the  long  procession  of  player-folk  passes  before 
the  eye  of  memory,  from  all  the  grave  and  gay  per- 


182       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

sonages  it  is  hard  to  select-  those  best  worthy  of  my 
rude  portraiture.  If  I  give  place  to  the  ladies,  as  a 
well-bred  man  should,  I  must  first  mention  one  who 
was  the  last  of  the  great  mistresses  of  tragedy  formed 
in  the  school  of  Siddons.  The  art  of  elevated  tragic 
acting,  whether  it  was  good  or  bad,  natural  or  unnat- 
ural, is  lost.  Mrs.  Duff  was  the  finest  of  those  who 
brought  its  traditions  down  to  comparatively  mod- 
ern times ;  but  it  was  my  bad  luck  not  to  see  her, 
and  it  is  of  Mrs.  Sloman  that  I  mean  to  speak.  Ah ! 
those  old  tragedy  queens,  in  solemn  black  and  lofty 
head-dresses  and  high  heels !  I  wonder  if  they 
would  beguile  our  parquettes,  for  we  have  no  pits 
now  to  be  cheated  out  of  their  tremors  and  their 
tears.  If  the  old  tragedy  style  was  no  more  than 
stately  declamation,  at  least  it  brought  the  words 
of  the  poet,  and  the  dreary  and  desperate  facts 
of  the  situation,  to  the  ears  and  the  hearts  of  the 
hearers.  But  it  was  something  more.  Mrs.  Slornan, 
for  instance,  as  Isabella,  in  Southerne's  tragedy  of 
"  The  Fatal  Marriage,"  in  the  painful  scenes  of  the 
fifth  act,  seemed  almost  gigantic  in  her  agony.  In 
Jane  Shore  and  Mrs.  Beverly,  she  was  equally  fine 
and  large.  If  the  reminiscent  says  with  a  sigh, 
"There  is  no  such  acting  now,"  I  hope  that  the 
reader,  who  is  supposed  to  be  gentle,  will  not  laugh 
at  him.  I  am  foolish  enough  to  remember  pleas- 
antly the  actresses  who  brought  intelligence  to  their 
work ;  who  thought  more  of  what  they  said  and  of 
how  they  said  it  than  of  brocades  and  diamonds ; 


A  DRAMA  TIC  EPISODE.'  1 83 

•who  were  homely  domestic  characters,  and  went 
home  after  the  play  to  eat  supper  with  their  hus- 
bands and  put  the  children  to  bed,-  only  plain  wives, 
and  queens  no  longer;  who  were  letter-perfect  in 
their  parts  and  did  not  foist  bad  grammar  into  the 
text  of  Shakespeare  and  Sheridan ;  who  were,  in 
short,  solid,  honest  artists,  a  little  under  the  domin- 
ion of  stage  tradition,  but  still,  every  evening,  year 
after  year,  loyal  to  their  task.  Theatrical  people 
now  smile  superciliously  at  the  Statiras  and  Box- 
annas  and  Belvideras  of  the  last  century,  saying, 
"Anybody  could  play  such  parts."  Perhaps  so.  I 
wish  that  somebody  would,  if  it  be  so  easy.  Of 
course  it  is  harder  to  wriggle  up  and  down  the 
boards  as  a  French  courtesan,  and  to  glide  through 
the  mazes  of  crim.  con.  in  splendid  raiment,  and  be 
half  a  lady,  half  in  earnest,  half  well-up  in  the  text, 
half  heard,  half  applauded,  half  everything ;  but,  if 
I  may  be  permitted  to  choose,  the  Statiras  and 
Eoxannas  and  Belvideras  for  me ! 

4 

The  fame  of  a  great  actor  is  so  soon  lost  that  it 
seems  no  more  than  a  deed  of  simple  justice  and 
gratitude  to  try,  even  in  a  humble  way,  to  perpetu- 
ate it.  People  ask  me,  sometimes,  if  Mr.  Edwin 
Booth  is  as  great  an  actor  as  his  father  was.  But 
comparisons  are  unnecessary.  I  went  to  see  the 
son  play  Hamlet  the  other  night,  and  here  and  there 
observed  characteristics  of  the  older  artist.  I  waited 
eagerly  for  the  play-scene,  for  I  remembered  how 
fine  my  old  favorite  actor  was  in  that,  while  he 


184:     REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

rested  in  the  lap  of  Ophelia,  and  dominated  the 
whole  stage  by  his  single  presence.  The  stories  of 
his  eccentricities,  his  excesses,  his  semi-lunacies,  are 
innumerable ;  some  of  them  are  authentic  and  some 
of  them  are  not.  It  only  is  certain  that  he  was 
very  uncertain.  Managers  were  obliged  to  watch 
him  closely.  I  have  seen  a  thousand  people  wait- 
ing for  his  entrance  as  lago,  while  the  baffled  emis- 
saries of  the  theatre  scoured  the  city  in  quest  of 
him,  and  it  was  necessary  to  return  the  money  after 
all.  The  next  night  he  would  come  on  with  bowed 
head,  and  the  suggestion  of  penitence  and  apology 
in  his  carriage  ;  and  afterward  play,  as  if  gratefully, 
with  touches  here  and  there  of  the  old  fire  which 
had  warmed  to  enthusiasm  a  past  generation,  bring- 
ing "  full-handed  thunders  "  from  box  and  pit  and 
gallery.  There  were  characters  which  died  with 
him,  though  they  are  not,  we  may  hope,  past  resur- 
rection,—  such  parts,  for  instance,  as  those  of  Sir 
Giles  Overreach  and  Pescara.  Is  there  anybody  now 
who  can  give  the  "  Some  undone  widow  sits  upon 
my  arm "  as  he  did  ?  —  who  can  infuse  into  that 
wonderful  dying  speech  and  confession  —  the  finest 
thing  which  ever  came  from  the  pen  of  Massinger 
—  the  despair,  agony,  remorse,  and  rage  with  which 
Mr.  Booth  gave  it  ?  Small  critics  used  to  say  that 
it  was  a  recollection  of  the  elder  Kean  ;  but  how  are 
we  to  know  that  Mr.  Kean's  reading  was  not 
caught  from  Mr.  Booth,  who  held  London  against 
him  for  a  little  while,  and  might  have  maintained 


A   DRAMATIC  EPISODE.  185 

the  contest  longer,  with  just  a  little  more  prudence 
and  sanity  ?  Among  Mr.  Booth's  last  engagements 
in  the  United  States  were  those  which  he  played  at 
the  Boston  Museum,  of  which  Mr.  Moses  Kimball 
was  the  manager.  Seated  in  that  gentleman's  snug 
office,  surrounded  by  countless  theatrical  souvenirs, 
I  have  often  listened  with  pleasure  to  his  stories  of 
the  great  tragedian.  One  I  venture  to  repeat,  al- 
though the  reader  may  already  have  heard  it.  Dur- 
ing one  of  his  engagements,  his  son  Edwin,  I  think, 
appeared  early  in  the  morning  at  the  theatre,  with 
the  sad  information  that  the  old  man  was  getting  a 
little  unsteady.  Mr.  Kirnball  advised  a  rural  drive, 
to  last  all  day,  and  to  conclude  at  the  stage-door  of 
the  theatre.  The  device  answered  very  well;  but 
after  Mr.  Booth  had  begun  to  dress,  he  complained 
of  feeling  hungry.  Mr.  Kimball  sent  out  for  sand- 
wiches, which,  alas !  proved  to  be  sandwiches  of 
ham.  The  actor,  as  a  rule,  declined  animal  food, 
but  of  pork  he  had  a  special  abhorrence.  Slowly  he 
split  open  each  sandwich,  and  cast  the  offensive 
flesh  upon  the  floor.  "  You  forget,"  he  said,  "  that 
I  am  to  play  Shylock  to-night."  Then  he  ate  the 
bread  and  was  filled.  The  temptation  to  repeat 
many  anecdotes  of  this  remarkable  man  is  great; 
but  the  gossip  about  him  has  been  persistent,  and 
much  that  is  to  be  said  of  him  is  already  of  record. 
I  saw  him  last  in  Providence,  and,  with  a  somewhat 
over-joyful  company,  sat  the  night  through  by  his 
side.  He  was  in  very  ill-humor,  for  he  had  missed 


186       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

the  boat  for  New  York,  where  he  was  announced  to 
appear  on  the  succeeding  evening.  This,  and  per- 
haps the  fact  that  we  youngsters  bored  him,  made 
him  first  moody  and  finally  cross.  The  landlord 
asked  that  his  sou  might  speak  a  speech  from  some 
play  before  him ,  and,  after  the  lad  had  finished  ex- 
posing himself,  Mr.  Booth  gave  a  great  grunt  of  con- 
temptuous disapprobation.  The  night  wore  on; 
when  we  had  the  audacity  to  ask  the  actor  to  recite, 
he  declined  to  do  so,  though  he  volunteered  to  sing ; 
and  finally,  an  entire  incoherency  having  been  estab- 
lished, he  was  led  to  his  chamber,  and  the  rest  of  us 
took  our  departure.  He  was  then  much  changed; 
his  voice  was  in  ruins  ;  but  his  head  wras  still  noble, 
and  his  walk  upon  the  stage  dignified.  How  far  he 
was  morally  responsible  for  what  he  did  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say,  but  undoubtedly  he  was  not  so  alto- 
gether. Mr.  Choate,  the  great  Boston  lawyer,  used 
to  say  that  he  had  seen  Mr.  Booth  play  this  and 
that  character  over  and  over  again,  but  that  he  had 
never  seen  him  play  the  same  part  twice  precisely 
in  the  same  way.  This  criticism  is  perhaps  the 
highest  compliment  which  could  be  paid  to  his 
genius.  If  his  rendering  was  in  some  particulars 
the  chance  of  the  occasion,  it  showed  how  entirely 
he  abandoned  himself  to  his  work,  and  how  thor- 
oughly he  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  part  which 
he  was  presenting. 


THE  STAGE  AND  CONCERT-ROOM.         187 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

THE   STAGE  AND   CONCERT-KOOM. 

ELLEN  TREE.  —  CHARLES  KEAN.  —  A  MEMORY  OF  TALFOURD'S 
"!ON."  —  EDWIN  FORREST.  —  ANECDOTES  OF  THAT  TRA- 
GEDIAN. —  PUBLIC  MANIAS.  —  FANNY  ELSSLER.  —  OLE  BULL. 
—  JENNY  LIND. 


temptation  to  renew  the  gossip  of  the  pre- 
JL  ceding  chapter  is  too  strong  to  be  resisted. 
My  hand  moves  involuntarily  to  ring  up  again  the 
curtain.  Like  the  boy  who  flits  from  the  door.  of 
this  dressing-room  to  that  of  another,  I  call  to  the 
occupants  that  they  will  shortly  be  wanted,  or  that 
the  stage  waits.  These  are  but  ghosts  who  come 
out  at  the  summons,  in  toga  or  tunic,  in  the  light 
muslin  of  the  dancers,  in  the  saucy  cap  of  the  cham- 
bermaid, in  the  trailing  skirts  of  the  queen  of  tra- 
gedy, in  the  short  clothes  and  long  waistcoats  and 
tie-wigs  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The  Thane's 
wife  once  more  wrings  her  little  hands,  which  have 
royal  blood  upon  them  ;  the  honeymoon  of  poor 
Juliet  sets  behind  the  grim  walls  of  the  sepulchre  ; 
Desdemona  disrobes  for  the  fatal  bed  from  which 
she  will  never  rise  again  ;  or,  as  the  kindly  sunlight 
irradiates  the  scene,  the  fine  women  of  Congreve  or 
Wycherly  send  a  thrill  of  laughter  through  all  the 


188       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

house,  or  my  Lady  Teazle  fascinates  and  repels  her 
lord  in  one  sweet  breath.  Is  there  anybody  who 
ever  heard  it,  who  can  forget  how  Ellen  Tree,  look- 
ing saucily  into  the  face  of  Benedick,  drawled  mock- 
ingly out,  "  I  wonder  that  you  will  still  be  talking, 
Signor  Benedick ;  nobody  marks  you."  Here  was 
assurance  of  a  delightful  evening,  and  we  gathered 
ourselves  together  to  make  the  most  of  it.  Surely, 
Shakespeare  came  almost  mended  from  these  lips. 
With  what  wonderful  force  and  energy,  after  all 
that  light  trifling,  did  the  lady  utter  the  words,  as 
if  they  had  been  wrenched  out  of  her,  "  Oh  that  I 
were  a  man  !  O  God,  that  I  were  a  man !  I  would 
eat  his  heart  in  the  market-place ! "  All  the  pert 
badinage  gone ;  all  the  impulses  of  girlhood  changed 
to  a  deadly  earnest;  wit  and  humor  and  merry 
repartee  forgotten ;  the  temper  which  was  wont  to 
expend  itself  in  pretty  frivolity  grown  almost  tragic, 
as  the  niece  of  Leonato  sneered  out,  "  But  manhood 
is  melted  into  courtesies,  valor  into  compliment, 
and  men  are  only  turned  into  tongues,  and  trim 
ones,  too."  The  reader  who  has  seen  Shakespeare 
well  acted  reads  him  with  a  double  zest.  What  was 
ideal  has  become  to  him  an  embodiment.  It  is  as 
if  he  had  known  these  heroes  and  heroines,  —  had 
sighed  with  Jacques,  had  laughed  with  Mercutio,  or 
been  personally  amused  by  the  blundering  of  Dog- 
berry. Miss  Tree  —  I  like  to  call  her  by  that  name 
—  was  equally  fine  in  tragedy,  and  theatre-goers 
have  not  forgotten  her  Mrs.  Beverly,  played  with  her 


'  THE  STAGE  AND  CONCERT-ROOM,         189 

husband,  Mr.  Charles  Kean,  who  might  have  been  a 
great  tragic  actor  if  Nature  had  done  just  a  little 
more  for  him,  and  he  had  been  a  little  more  fortu- 
nate in  his  elocution.  I  remember  how  he  came 
before  the  curtain  to  return  thanks  upon  his  benefit 
night,  and  in  the  course  of  his  speech  gasped  out 
Goldsmith's  couplet :  "  Where'er  I  go,  ah !  —  what- 
ever realms,  ah !  —  I  see,  ah  !  —  the  heart,  ah  !  —  un- 
travelled  still,  ah !  —  returns  to  thee,  ah  ! "  It 
might  have  been  all  very  pathetic,  if  some  under- 
bred person  in  the  pit  had  not  cried  out,  "  Heavens  ! 
what  a  mouth  to  eat  pumpkins  with  ! "  This,  I  am 
compelled  to  admit,  rather  detracted  from  the  pathos 
of  the  occasion.  But  let  us  return  to  the  lady.  I 
believe  that  Mr.  Justice  Talfourd's  "Ion,"  which 
was  a  great  success  in  1835,  is  now  seldom  played. 
In  London  Miss  Tree  was  the  Calanthe,  for  the  part 
of  Ion  was  often  played  by  Mr.  Macready.  I  have 
often  wondered  what  he  made  of  it.  In  America 
the  lady  played  Ion,  and  played  it  beautifully.  To 
say  that  she  carried  a  tragedy,  perhaps  the  heaviest 
which  has  had  any  success  in  English-speaking 
theatres  since  Dr.  Johnson's  "  Irene,"  is  to  affirm 
simple  truth.  Her  perfect  acting  animated  the  cold 
Greek  forms  by  which  she  was  hampered,  and  she 
infused  into  the  part  of  the  doomed  boy  almost  a 
romantic  warmth.  As  Ion  glided  on  through  many 
a  dark  maze  toward  the  grim  end  which  awaited 
him,  his  cheerful  carriage,  his  captivating  resigna- 
tion, his  touching  submission,  were  all  beautifully 


190       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

delineated  by  this  meritorious  actress;  and  when 
the  thunder  pronounced  the  doom  which  awaited 
him,  the  resignation  with  which  the  decree  of  the 
gods  was  met  filled  all  our  hearts  with  pity  and  sad- 
ness. We  caught  something  of  the  old  ^Eschylian 
inspiration ;  arid,  as  we  left  the  theatre,  we  almost 
saw  painted  upon  the  midnight  sky  the  frowning 
outline  of  the  Acropolis. 

The  transition  from  this  delicate  triumph  of  the 
dramatic  art  to  the  gladiatorial  exhibitions  of  Mr. 
Edwin  Forrest  is  like  passing  from  the  musical  mea- 
dows of  Arcadia  to  the  fields  of  Bash  an,  resonant 
with  bovine  bellowers.  As  an  American,  I  am  un- 
der constitutional  obligations  to  declare  Mr.  Forrest 
the  finest  tragic  actor  of  this  or  of  any  age ;  but  as  a 
man  and  a  critic,  I  resolutely  refuse  to  say  anything 
of  the  sort.  "  If  this  be  treason,"  as  Patrick  Henry 
said,  "  make  the  most  of  it ! "  Fanny  Kemble,  some- 
where about  1832,  during  her  first  theatrical  tri- 
umphs in  the  United  States,  wrent  down  to  the  Bow- 
ery Theatre  to  see  the  young  tragedian  about  whom 
there  was  so  much  talk ;  and  I  think  her  sole  criti- 
cism upon  him  in  her  diary  is,  "  What  a  mountain 
of  a  man ! "  Well,  he  was  tall  and  he  was  muscu- 
lar. Such  calves  as  his  I  have  seldom  seen.  It  was 
with  admirable  instinct  that  Dr.  Bird  wrote  for  this 
large  person  the  play  of  "  The  Gladiator."  He  was 
born  for  single  combat.  The  Macduff  with  whom 
he  contended  had  a  hard  time  of  it,  nor  did  he  easily 
succumb  to  the  most  valiant  Richmond.  Supernu- 


THE  STAGE  AND  CONCERT-ROOM.         191 

meraries  did  not  like  to  be  handled  by  him  when 
the  business  required  pulling  about  and  mauling. 
The  Messenger  in  "Damon  and  Pythias"  always 
played  the  part  at  the  risk  of  his  bones  when  Mr. 
Forrest  delineated  the  patriotic  Syracusian.  Of 
course,  all  this  rnastodonian  muscularity  was  a  dis- 
advantage in  characters  of  predominating  intellect, 
like  Hamlet,  with  which  our  actor  never  meddled 
without  reminding  us  of  a  bull  in  a  china-shop. 
The  merits  of  Mr.  Forrest  were  those  which  might 
be  acquired  by  long  experience  of  the  stage,  and  by 
many  opportunities  of  practising  at  the  expense  of 
the  public.  Sometimes,  when  he  had  only  to  man- 
age a  few  lengths  of  stately  declamation,  he  suc- 
ceeded in  making  an  impression  upon  the  judicious. 
With  such  a  frame,  and  a  good  costume,  it  would 
have  been  strange  if  he  had  altogether  missed  dig- 
nity ;  but  he  was  not  overburthened  with  intellec- 
tual perceptions,  and,  generally  speaking,  whatever 
he  played  he  was  the  same  man.  One  remembers 
him,  not  as  Macbeth,  nor  even  as  Spartacus  or  Meta- 
mora,  but  as  the  Great  American  Tragedian.  Actors 
are  not  usually  good  judges  of  dramas ;  but  it  would 
be  impossible  for  a  player  of  the  least  literary  in- 
stinct to  go  on  acting  year  after  year  in  such  a  far- 
rago of  bombast  and  bad  rhetoric  as  poor  John 
Augustus  Stone's  aboriginal  drama  of  "  Metamora." 
Mr.  Stone  did  what  he  could  to  atone  for  the  injury 
which  he  had  inflicted  upon  the  world  by  the  pro- 
duction of  this  play  and  another,  equally  bad,  which 


192       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

he  wrote  for  Yankee  Hill.  He  drowned  himself  on 
June  1, 1834,  in  the  Schuylkill  River.  We  will  ac- 
cept the  presumptive  apology.  Mr.  Forrest  went  on 
playing  those  parts  specially  written  for  his  private 
legs  and  larynx  to  the  end.  One  does  not  under- 
stand why  he  did  not  lay  them  aside  after  the  full 
development  of  his  Shakespearean  aspirations.  I 
think  that  he  had  dim  notions  of  the  faults  of  his 
acting,  and  that  he  tried  a  little  to  be  less  outrage- 
ous ;  but  he  was  rather  worse  when  he  attempted  to 
be  quiet  than  when  he  o'er-did  Termagant  or  out- 
Heroded  Herod.  Any  effort  to  utter  anything  sotto 
voce  instantly  suggested  suffocation.  Nor  could  Mr. 
Forrest  move  his  ponderous  limbs  with  ease,  except 
in  garments  of  the  loosest  description ;  in  a  part  like 
that  of  Claude  Melnotte,  demanding  modern  ap- 
parel, he  was  like  the  Farnese  Hercules  in  a  dress- 
coat.  He  had  some  original  business,  but  it  was  not 
good ;  even  if  it  had  been  better,  he  would  have 
spoiled  it  by  over-consciousness  and  by  thrusting  it 
upon  the  attention  of  the  house.  He  thought  too 
much  of  making  a  sensation  to  be  natural.  I  never 
saw  a  Richard  III.  so  long  in  getting  ready  to  go  to 
bed ;  I  never  saw  one,  after  the  appearance  of  the 
ghosts,  get  up  with  such  astonishing  alacrity,  or 
down  to  the  footlights  with  more  convulsive  speed. 
It  is  a  mean  thing  to  deny  merit,  when  merit  is  due ; 
and  Mr.  Forrest  was  certainly  very  bustling  and 
tremulous  in  the  tent-scene.  I  have  heard  it  said 
that  at  one  time  he  played  it  with  a  weapon  to  the 


THE  STAGE  AND   CONCERT-ROOM.         193 

hilt  of  which  bits  of  metal  were  attached,  the  rattle 
of  these  sufficiently  attesting  the  agitation  of  the 
guilty  monarch.  Going  into  some  cheap  theatre  one 
night,  he  found  that  a  rival  Eichard  had  pirated  his 
invention,  and  this  sent  him  home  in  great  ill-humor. 
He  would  not  be  soothed,  nor,  for  some  time,  ex- 
plain his  sulkiness ;  but  when  he  suddenly  broke 

out  with  "  D 'em!  they  all  have  shaking  swords," 

the  household  understood  why  its  lord  was  ill  at 
ease.  He  seemed  to  carry  his  admiration  of  mere 
bigness  even  into  his  ideas  of  a  sister  art.  There  is 
a  funny  story  of  the  advice  which  he  gave  to  a  young 
painter  who  had  sought  his  patronage ;  an  eminent 
writer  in  Boston  used  to  tell  it  thus  with  great 
gusto  :  "  I  knew  your  father,  sir !  A  good  artist,  sir ! 
You  should  give  yourself  to  high  art,  sir.  Have  you 
ever  seen  Paul  Potter's  bull  ?  That  is  what  I  call  high 
art,  sir ! "  Old  Andrew  Jackson  Allen,  an  eccentric 
costumer,  well  known  in  the  theatrical  circles  of 
New  York,  was  a  factotum  of  Forrest.  His  evidence 
in  the  scandalous  divorce  case  was  amusing,  and  will 
be  remembered  by  those  who  perused  the  reports  of 
those  unsavory  proceedings.  Allen  made  for  For- 
rest's Eichard  III.  a  magnificent,  well-burnished  suit 
of  patent  leather.  Forrest  was  always  in  the  habit 
of  chaffing  Allen,  and  on  one  occasion  he  had  been 
particularly  sarcastic  in  his  allusions  to  patent  leath- 
er. "  Patent  leather,  indeed,"  responded  Allen  test- 
ily. "  I  should  like  to  know  what  your  Eichard  III. 
would  be  without  it ! "  And  with  this  clever  repar- 
13 


194       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

tee  we  may  dismiss  this  uncommonly  large  actor. 
As  an  orator  he  is  not  so  well  known.  He  delivered 
a  wonderful  Fourth  of  July  oration,  somewhere 
between  1830  and  1840,  in  this  city,  which  was 
printed,  and  glad  collectors  of  curiosa  always  are  to 
obtain  a  copy.  It  is  before  me ;  it  is  extremely 
beautiful,  —  one  of  the  finest  pieces  of  calico  compo- 
sition ever  sent  to  the  press. 

I  wish  that  somebody,  with  leisure  and  taste  for 
the  work,  would  write  a  history  of  the  American 
manias  in  the  matter  of  amusement,  from  the  far- 
away days  of  George  Frederick  Cooke  and  Edmund 
Kean,  down  to  the  present  time.  In  1841  we  all 
went  mad  about  a  dancer,  Fanny  Elssler,  and  long 
queues  from  the  middle  of  the  street  to  the  box- 
office,  and  great  prices  paid  for  tickets,  attested  the 
sudden  passion  of  Americans  for  the  delicacies  of 
the  Terpsichorean  art.  We  had  enjoyed  good  ballet- 
dancing  before,  —  the  evergreen  Celeste  in  "  The 
French  Spy,"  Augusta  in  "La  Bayadere,"  to  say 
nothing  of  Master  and  Miss  "Wells,  hopping  about 
between  the  acts,  and  making  a  dancing-school  of 
the  stage  of  the  Old  Park  Theatre.  Mademoiselle 
was  charming,  I  suppose,  but  it  all  looks  rather 
faded  and  shabby  to  me  now,  through  the  mists  of 
all  these  years ;  only  I  remember  that  people  were 
crazy  then  about  her  grace  and  her  smile  and  her 
lovely  pantomime,  her  jumps  and  skips  and  hops 
and  pirouettes.  She  had  a  Mons.  Sylvain  with  her, 
wonderful  also  for  agility,  and  these  two  in  a  pas  de 


THE  STAGE  AND   CONCERT-ROOM.         195 

deux  were  considered  inimitable.     I  was  not  much 
of  a  judge  of  these  gymnastics,  but  I  thought  the 
lady  the  perfection  of  grace  until  Mr.  N".  P.  Willis, 
then   our   arbiter  elegantiarum,   solemnly   declared 
that  she  danced  like  a  pair  of  tongs.     After  that,  of 
course,  I  was  in  doubt,  although  a  friend  of  mine 
often  avowed,  with  every  appearance  of  sincerity, 
that  he  would  give  twenty  dollars  at  any  time  to  see 
mademoiselle,  in  her  short  petticoats,  take  her  seat 
when  the  business  of  the  ballet  required  the  seden- 
tary position.    All  I  know  is  that  people  went  crazy, 
as  they  will  any  time  if  their  enthusiasm  be  prop- 
erly manipulated.     Once  convince  them  that  they 
cannot  get  into  the  theatre  without  paying  an  un- 
conscionable sum  of  money,  and  they  will  be  sure  of 
the   aesthetic  excellence  of  what  is  to  be  seen  or 
heard  within.     I  ought  to  say  that   mademoiselle 
gave  a  real  ballet  of  action,  with  a  story  in  it,  —  a 
kind  of  entertainment  which  seems  to  be  lost.     It 
was  not  in  the  least  of  the  "  Black  Crook  "  school ; 
it  had  a  plot  with  a  beginning   and   end,  which, 
although  undeniably  absurd,  afforded  a  reason  for 
the  saltatory  exhibition,  for  all  the  work  done  with 
legs  and  arms  by  the  first  female  and  the  first  male 
dancer,  and  by  the  many  twinkling  choruses  which 
twirled  and  twined  and  went  about  in  circles  and 
platoons  and  atoned  for  the  general  ugliness  of  every- 
body in  it  by  a  conscientious  attention  to  business. 
As  for  the  morality  of  the  matter  —  who  knows  ? 
Did  n't  mademoiselle  dance  in  Puritan  Boston  for 


196       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

the  benefit  of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument," — that 
shaft  which  was  so  long  in  the  process  of  construc- 
tion ?  They  told  a  wicked  story,  with  not  a  word  of 
truth  in  it,  I  suppose ;  but  people  will  have  their 
jest.  Those  were  the  days  of  "New  England  Tran- 
scendentalism," whatever  that  rnay  have  been ;  and 
they  said  that  among  those  who,  upon  one  occasion, 
gazed  at  the  dancer  from  the  boxes  were  Mr.  Emer- 
son and  poor  Miss  Margaret  Fuller.  As  the  tale 
was  told,  upon  some  movement  of  unusual  and  par- 
ticular grace,  the  philosopher  turned  to  the  .lady  and 
said,  "  Margaret,  this  is  poetry  " ;  and  she  respond- 
ed, "  Ealph,  this  is  religion ! "  I  fear  that  I  am 
making  a  little  free  with  venerable  and  well-honored 
names ;  and  I  only  give  the  anecdote  to  show  how 
much  chat,  wise  or  foolish,  but  mainly  foolish,  the 
charming  and  clever  lady  from  Vienna  occasioned. 

Soon  after  we  had  another  sensation.  Up  to  1843 
we  had  enjoyed  but  little  virtuoso  playing  upon  the 
violin,  the  violoncello,  or  the  double-bass.  The  scope 
of  these  instruments  was,  in  fact,  almost  unknown 
here.  Then  Ole  Bull,  who  had  a  kind  of  European 
reputation  for  doing  impossible  things  with  catgut 
and  horsehair,  burst  upon  us,  and,  I  am  afraid,  took 
advantage  of  our  uneducated  condition.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  undertake  any  criticism  of  his  perform- 
ances ;  but,  as  a  historian,  I  may  set  down  the  fact 
that  we  all  made  asses  of  ourselves ;  that  we  thought 
nonsense,  talked  nonsense,  and  printed  nonsense 
about  this  Norwegian.  Dear  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria 


THE  STAGE  AND  CONCERT-ROOM.         197 

Child,  the  kindest  and  cleverest  of  women,  was 
among  those  who  were  most  egregiously  taken  in. 
Of  course,  she  knew  nothing  whatever  of  violin- 
playing.  A  smart  musical  boy,  with  a  knack  at 
the  bow,  might  have  cheated  her ;  but  when  told 
that  the  piece  was  called  "  The  Mother's  Prayer," 
she  became  instantly  devout,  heard  aspirations  in 
every  trill,  trust  in  God  in  each  vibration  of  the  G 
string,  all  the  experiences  of  human  life  in  shake 
QY  pizzicato,  and  the  sweet  innocence  of  childhood 
laughing  now  on  the  E  and  now  on  the  A.  She 
was  the  New  York  correspondent  of  "  The  Boston 
Courier,"  and  she  actually  wrote  to  that  journal  — 
then  edited  by  old,  hard-headed  Joseph  T.  Bucking- 
ham —  that  in  giving  this  piece,  Mr.  Ole  Bull's 
hands  seemed  often  clasped  as  if  in  prayer.  If  he 
had  been  an  archangel,  fresh  from  the  throne,  there 
could  not  have  been  more  reverent  rhapsody  uttered 
about  his  musical  abilities.  I  do  not  think  that  he 
meant  to  help  the  delusion;  he  probably  believed 
that  he  was  all  that  his  crowded  and  shouting 
audiences  thought  him  to  be.  They  said  that  \vhen 
asked  who  was  his  teacher,  he  replied,  "  God ! "  My 
friend,  Mr.  "William  Keyser,  then  the  leader  of  the 
Boston  Academy  of  Music,  and  a  solid  player  of 
the  old  De  Beriot  school,  always  went  into  a  passion 
whenever  he  heard  this  story.  "  Bah ! "  he  would 
say,  "  I  don't  like  his  teacher.  Give  me  Vieuxtemps, 
—  the  French  Conservatory  taught  him  1 "  What 
gave  point  to  this  was  that  M.  Vieuxtemps  was  in 


198       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

this  country  at  the  same  time,  and  though  one  of 
the  most  admirable  players  of  the  period,  was  quite 
overshadowed  by  the  grand  success  of  his  rival. 
Only  a  little  while  ago  the  news  came  to  us  that 
the  old  virtuoso  had  died,  far  away  from  the  scene 
of  his  transatlantic  triumphs.  But  he  had  been 
lingering  here  only  a  little  while  before,  playing 
sometimes,  and  still  believed  in,  now  and  then,  by 
popular  audiences :  but  the  glory  was  gone ;  the 
enthusiasm  had  utterly  disappeared ;  all  the  facile 
tricks  of  execution  were  better  understood;  and 
people  of  this  generation  only  wondered  at  the 
frenzy  of  their  predecessors. 

I  have  scant  space  left  in  which  to  speak  of  the 
Jenny  Lind  lunacy  which  came  in  1851.  "Was  it  so 
long  as  thirty  years  ago  that  we  gave  ourselves  up, 
under  the  spell  of  Mr.  Barnum's  management,  body, 
soul,  and  pocket-book,  to  that  delusion  ?  Since  the 
public  disbursed  its  money  by  tens  of  thousands  of 
dollars,  just  to  hear  her  sing  two  or  three  songs? 
Eheufugaces!  Where  is  the  man  who  paid  such  a 
fortune  for  the  first  choice  of  a  seat  ?  Where  are 
the  dozen  dollars  which  I  myself  took  from  a  flaccid 
purse,  and  cheerfully  laid  down  for  the  privilege  of 
seeing  the  extraordinary  woman,  when  I  might  just 
as  well  have  stayed  at  home,  and  listened  to  a  dear 
voice  singing' something  which  I  could  understand, 
to  the  honest  accompaniment  of  the  old,  well-worn 
pianoforte  ?  We  are  not  always  wise.  I  was  so 
anxious  to  hear  the  lady  that  I  heard  her  to  no 


THE  STAGE  AND   CONCERT-ROOM.         199 

purpose.  She  came  in,  a  form  of  life  and  light,  and 
we  gave  ourselves  to  handclapping  and  huzzas.  She 
sang  a  very  little,  and,  as  she  glided  from  the  scene, 
again  we  surrendered  ourselves  to  handclapping 
and  huzzas.  It  was  thrilling,  but  I  remember  no 
more.  I  only  wish  that  I  had  my  dozen  dollars 
safe  again  in  my  purse,  that  I  might  spend  them  in 
buying  old  books,  or  in  securing  tickets  for  the  next 
Philharmonic  series. 


200       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE   XV. 

A   GOSSIP   OF  POLITICS. 

THE  MEN  OF  THE  CAUCUSES.  —  THE  DEATH  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 
—  CHARACTERISTICS  OF  THAT  ORATOR  AND  STATESMAN.  — 
THEODORE  PARKER.  —  His  HUMANITY  AND  NATURAL  RE- 
LIGION.—  THE  HARD  FATE  OF  A  NEWSPAPER  AND  ITS  EDITOR. 
THE  FREMONT  CAMPAIGN.  —  AN  ACTIVE  MEMBER  OF  THE 
PARTY. 

SHALL  we  go  back  to  politics  and  politicians, 
to  statesmen  and  state  matters,  to  questions 
which  once  mortally  agitated  us,  but  which  now 
trouble  nobody's  peace  ?  The  trifles  of  the  theatre 
have  engaged  us.  We  will  return,  if  the  reader 
pleases,  to  those  caucuses  and  conventions  about 
which,  of  course,  there  is  no  illusion  whatever.  In 
this  excellent  republic,  the  important  people  are 
those  who  hold,  have  held,  or  hope  to  hold  office, 
high  or  not  so  high.  Some  of  these  live  in  memory 
only.  Some  of  them,  not  unconsidered  during  their 
own  fleeting  moment,  are  utterly  forgotten.  Alter  the 
fitful  fever  of  the  fray,  victorious  majorities  or  dole- 
ful defeats,  this  miscarriage  or  that  success,  may 
they  rest  in  peace  !  Heaven  grant  that  they  dilate 
no  more  with  absurd  ambitions,  with  those  fatal 
yearnings  for  any  place  or  presidency,  which  are 
the  quintessence  of  hope  deferred !  May  there  be 


A   GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  201 

for  them  no  mortifying  failures  at  the  polls  of  the 
land  to  which  they  have  gone,  if  haply  that  land 
enjoys  the  charms  and  thrills  and  emotions  of  uni- 
versal suffrage !  Only  if  for  some  souls  there  could 
be  no  heaven  worth  having  without  a  political  can- 
vass, let  us  make  a  reservation  in  favor  of  tastes  so 
thoroughly  confirmed.  If  theirs  can  he  no  pleasure 
save  that  of  nomination  and  election,  may  such 
pleasure  be  still  granted  them ;  or,  if  it  be  better 
to  have  run  and  lost  than  never  to  have  run  at 
all,  may  the  persistently  unlucky  candidate  there 
find  some  mysterious  satisfaction  in  a  swinging 
minority ! 

Mr.  Webster  died  in  October,  1852.  Perhaps  it 
is  one  more  proof  of  the  fascination  which  he  exer- 
cised over  the  minds  of  men  that  I  recur  to  him. 
Even  now,  how  much  he  is  mentioned,  how  earnestly 
his  character  is  discussed  !  As  he  lay  dying  at  his 
well-loved  house  in  Marshfield,  in  that  cool  New 
England  October,  which  invigorated  so  many  frames, 
though  it  brought  no  new  life  to  the  shattered  giant, 
we  were  marching  about  and  raising  banners,  shout- 
ing ourselves  hoarse,  firing  guns,  and  doing  what 
we  could  to  galvanize  the  ill-starred  nomination  of 
General  Scott.  There  was  a  time  when  the  Defender 
of  the  Constitution  might  have  sent  a  withering 
sneer  from  his  dying  pillow  at  our  desperate  antics; 
but  the  self-sufficiency,  the  arrogance,  and  the  dicta- 
tion which  had  in  it  a  flavor  of  despotism,  were  all 
gone  then.  There  was  nothing  for  the  great  man  to 


202       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 
i 

do  but  to  die.  People  said  that  the  nomination  of 
General  Scott  killed  him ;  they  forgot  his  seventy 
years,  his  liberal  method  of  life,  and  the  energy 
which  he  had  put  not  only  into  his  work  but  his 
amusements.  That  the  nomination  made  by  the 
Baltimore  Convention  grievously  disappointed  him 
is  certain.  A  friend  who  happened  to  be  in  his 
house  when  the  news  of  General  Scott's  candidacy 
reached  there,  told  me  that  Mrs.  Webster  spoke 
pathetically  but  with  perfect  frankness  of  the  pain 
which  the  decision  of  the  convention  would  give  to 
Mr.  Webster.  And,  after  all,  it  was  as  well  that  he 
should  die  soon  :  there  was  no  presidency  for  him ; 
through  all  his  life  he  had  never  had  a  chance  of  it. 
Indeed,  there  was  now  no  remaining  public  career  for 
him.  It  was  a  grief  to  hear  some  men  speak  lightly 
of  him  even  in  Boston ;  and  after  he  was  dead  they 
told  odd  stories,  of  which  that  sick-chamber  was  the 
scene.  They  said  that  he  had  taken  a  formal  fare- 
well of  his  blooded  stock ;  that  his  whole  herd  had 
been  driven  slowly  by  the  door  at  which  he  was 
seated,  to  receive  his  dying  benediction ;  and  that, 
solemnly  waving  his  hand,  as  he  distinguished  one 
favorite  animal,  he  had  exclaimed,  in  weak,  pathetic, 
but  still  semi-sonorous  tones,  "  Molly  Mottle,  fare- 
well ! "  There  were  other  stories,  whether  ill  or  well 
founded,  of  actual  pecuniary  exigency  at  the  Marsh- 
field  farmhouse,  —  stories  which  reminded  one  of 
the  dying  days  of  Sheridan,  though,  of  course,  there 
was  nothing  like  the  absolute  pinch  which  put  the 


A    GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  203 

"last  blanket"  of  the  wit  in  danger  of  legal  at- 
tachment. It  is  true,  however,  that  the  man  who 
had  received  such  enormous  sums  of  money  for  pro- 
fessional and  other  services  left  no  money  behind 
him.  He  would  have  had  his  revenge,  if  he  could 
have  lived  just  a  little  longer,  to  read  the  election 
returns,  and  to  find  General  Scott  receiving  the 
votes  of  only  .four  States.  Mr.  Webster  himself 
could  hardly  have  done  so  badly  as  that.  We  are 
often  called  upon  to  listen  to  a  fresh  discussion  of  this 
great  man's  character.  Only  a  few  voices  of  dissent 
were  raised  in  1852,  when  a  perfect  psean  of  unre- 
strained, funereal  eulogy  swelled  through  the  land. 
He  had  all  his  life  been  accustomed  to  the  most  ab- 
ject ,, flattery.  The  healthy  doubts  here  and  there 
uttered  might  have  given  some  grim  satisfaction  to 
his  ghost  after  it  had  discovered  the  emptiness  of 
worldly  honors.  There  were  men  in  plenty  to  de- 
liver mortuary  orations,  but  I  am  compelled  to  say 
that  I  do  not  think  that  his  death  occasioned  any  deep 
general  regret  in  Massachusetts.  It  had  long  before 
been  discovered  that  the  godlike  had  many  human 
infirmities.  Then  it  is  always  foolish  to  praise  men 
for  what  they  were  not.  Mr.  Everett  says,  in  the 
article  which  he  wrote  for  an  encyclopaedia  on  Mr. 
Webster,  "He  was  a  remarkably  good  shot."  Of 
course,  Mr.  Everett  would  not  have  said  this  if  he 
had  not  been  told  so,  and  believed  what  he  was 
told  ;  but  the  fact  is  that  Mr.  Webster  was  a  remark- 
ably bad  shot,  and  was  often  thrown  into  a  passion 


204       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

by  his  own  want  of  still.  He  was  reputed  a  mighty 
hunter  of  deer  ;  but  I  think  the  truth  to  be  that  he 
seldom  killed  one  of  the  antlered  herd.  Once,  about 
1842,  there  was  a  paragraph  meandering  through 
the  newspapers  about  a  noble  buck  which  he  was 
said  to  have  brought  down,  and  which  was  shown  in 
New  York  with  a  ball  in  the  centre  of  the  forehead, 
—  "indubitable  proof,"  said  the  journalists,  "of  the 


unerring  aim  of  the  great   man."      Judge  W , 

who  knew  Mr.  Webster  very  well,  and  did  not  much 
love  him,  came  into  my  office  and  asked  me  if  I 
had  seen  the  paragraph.  "  Because,"  said  the  judge, 
in  his  softly  satirical  way,  "  it  is  a  pity  that  a  wrong 
statement  should  be  made  of  anything.  I  know  all 
about  that  buck.  It  was  sent  as  a  gift  by  Mr. 
Webster  to  Mr.  Stetson,  of  the  Astor  House,  and 
was  killed  by  somebody  else  —  certainly  not  by 
Mr.  Webster.  Perhaps  you  had  better  correct  the 
story  in  your  newspaper."  I  forget  whether  I  did 
or  not ;  but  probably  I  did  not.  Then,  again,  there 
is  an  impression  that  Mr.  Webster  was  an  excellent 
farmer;  indeed,  Mr.  Everett  says  as  much  in  the 
article  above  alluded  to.  I  believe  that  he  was 
very  unsuccessful  in  his  agricultural  operations,  and 
that  both  the  Massachusetts  and  the  New  Hamp- 
shire farm  ran  him  deeply  in  debt,  though  it  is 
not  probable  that  he  would  have  given  up  his  rural 
amusement  if  he  had  never  raised  a  single  crop. 
There  are  a  hundred  stories  of  his  chronic  impecu- 
niosity,  but  I  do  not  propose  to  repeat  them.  They 


A   GOSSSP  OF  POLITICS.  205 

are  too  mortifying  to  be  put  upon  record.  He  was 
not  the  first  great  man  whose  credit  was  not  good 
with  tradesmen ;  nor  was  he  the  first  whose  perfect 
promptness  in  paying  his  bills  has  been  vouched  for 
by  eulogists  and  blind  admirers. 

There  is  nothing  more  remarkable  than  the  deep 
and  abiding  impression  which  Mr.  Webster's  char- 
acter, as  it  was  popularly  understood,  made  upon 
clergymen.  One  of  the  most  excellent  of  that  pro- 
fession in  New  England,  after  this  chapter  was  pub- 
lished in  the  newspaper,  thus  wrote  to  me :  "  May 
I  call  your  attention  to  Daniel  Webster?  What 
you  say  of  him  is  substantially  true.  And  yet  he 
was  so  great  a  man,  he  was  made  up  on  so  magni- 
ficent a  scale  that,  with  all  these  imperfections,  there 
were  predominant  in  his  composition  qualities  of 
the  truest  and  highest  character,  enough,  and  large 
enough  to  give  an  enduring  reputation  for  magna- 
nimity and  moral  greatness  to  any  one  of  his  dis- 
tinguished contemporaries.  There  was  in  him  a 
boundless  wealth  of  affection  and  emotion;  a 
grandeur  in  his  moral  ideas  and  religious  concep- 
tions that  raised  him  above  all  the  public  men  that 
I  have  ever  known."  Anxious  to  be  just,  I  add 
this  amiable  protest,  feeling  only  regret  that,  with  a 
larger  knowledge  than  my  friend  can  possibly  pos- 
sess, I  cannot  share  the  opinion  which  it  embodies. 
I  believe  that  Mr.  Webster  was  deeply  desirous  of 
being  publicly  useful  I  believe,  indeed,  that  he 
was  what  Burke  calls  "  a  public  creature,"  and  that 


206       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

only  in  the  great  affairs  of  state  could  such  a  nature 
find  adequate  employment.  Thinking  thus  of  this 
great  man,  fully  appreciating  his  intellectual  force, 
charmed  as  I  always  am  by  reading  the  best  of  his 
speeches,  —  for  he  made  many  which  were  unwor- 
thy of  his  abilities,  —  not  unmindful  of  his  almost 
faultless  use  of  the  English  language,  —  I  am  con- 
strained to  say  that  if  he  in  the  least  appreciated 
the  political  situation  during  his  later  years,  the 
proof  is  not  to  be  found  in  anything  which  he  said 
or  did.  He  seems  during  that  time  to  have  thought 
more  of  the  methods  of  the  politician  than  of  the 
higher  morals  of  the  statesman.  I  am  afraid  that 
he  came  to  regard  government  too  much  as  a  matter 
of  machinery.  He  believed  that  the  great  throb- 
bings  of  a  nation's  heart  could  be  stilled  by  Act  of 
Congress.  It  was  a  sad  mistake;  and  I  wish  that 
he  had  not  made  it. 

Among  those  who  most  severely  criticised  the 
course  of  Mr.  Webster,  both  before  and  after  his 
death,  was  Theodore  Parker.  This  celebrated  thinker 
and  teacher  had  all  the  virtues  of  Christianity, 
though  he  did  riot  accept  its  divine  origin  in  the 
usual  sense.  His  congregation  in  those  days,  in  the 
Boston  Music  Hall,  was  a  sight  to  see ;  for,  ample  as 
were  the  proportions  of  the  edifice,  they  were  hardly 
enough  so  for  the  crowds  which  thronged  to  hear 
Mr.  Parker  preach  autislavery,  charity,  temperance, 
and  all  the  major  and  minor  virtues.  Of  course 
some  people  went  to  hear  conventional  religion 


A    GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  207 

spoken  of  sharply,  and  to  enjoy  Mr.  Parker's  free 
method  of  handling  the  Bible  and  the  creeds;  others 
were  there  out  of  curiosity ;  but,  whether  you  were 
at  one  with  the  speaker  or  not,  so  far  as  more  than 
a  moiety  of  the  assemblage  was  concerned,  you  felt 
that  you  were  breathing  an  atmosphere  of  sincerity 
and,  I  may  say,  of  particular  conscientiousness.  Mr. 
Parker  was  not  an  orator.  He  was  no  pulpit  culti- 
vator of  the  graces.  He  had  not  been  petted  and 
dandled  into  popularity.  His  rule  had  always  been 
to  speak  the  things  which  were  true,  rather  than 
the  things  which  were  agreeable.  His  sermons  were 
prepared  upon  no  venerable  model,  and  no  more  re- 
minded you  of  Blair  than  of  Jonathan  Edwards ; 
but  they  were  so  replete  with  thought  and  courage, 
so  strengthened  by  unusual  learning,  so  massive  in 
their  simplicity,  so  direct  in  their  point,  and  so 
recommended  by  "  exceeding  honesty,"  that,  how- 
ever much  one  might  disagree  with  the  teacher,  it 
was  impossible  not  to  respect  him.  He  had  not  a 
single  dramatic  accessory.  He  had  no  pulpit,  and 
not  even  a  church.  His  manner  was  quiet,  he 
used  few  gestures  :  the  voice  and  the  noble  Socratic 
face  supplied  more  than  the  whole  armory  of  the 
deftest  elocutionist.  He  preached  about  everything, 
and  that  is  why  he  is  mentioned  just  here ;  for,  of 
course,  he  preached  about  politics.  He  plainly  and 
plumply  advised  his  people  to  disobey  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Law,  not  theoretically,  but  practically.  He 
was  very  little  of  a  non-resistant ;  and  I  doubt  if 


203       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

even  his  friend  Garrison,  that  good  man  of  perfect 
peace,  except  peace  of  the  tongue,  could  have  held 
him  back  from  shooting,  when  there  was  a  reason- 
able prospect  that  shooting  would  be  efficient.  As 
for  the  poor  hunted  runaway's  right  to  resort  to 
knives  and  pistols  to  keep  his  new  and  hardly-won 
liberty,  why,  I  suspect  that  not  even  Mr.  Garrison 
had  much  doubt  about  that.  Somehow,  the  pacific 
theories  did  not  seem  so  important  when  it  came  to 
the  question  of  personal  liberty  or  the  death  of  the 
kidnapper.  Whatever  his  errors,  I  have  reason  to 
remember  Mr.  Parker  only  with  gratitude.  I  had 
not  long  been  an  editor  in  Boston,  before  I  discov- 
ered that,  for  various  reasons,  I  had  entered  upon  a 
rather  difficult  business.  It  was  not  easy  to  speak 
words  of  truth  and  of  humanity  in  opposition  to 
what  were  then  regarded  as  the  material  interests  of 
the  city.  Commerce  and  capital  and  manufactures 
were  upon  the  other  side,  and  even  those  who 
meant  to  do  right  were  occasionally  timid.  So,  one 
day,  when  Mr.  Parker,  with  whom  I  had  then  no 
personal  acquaintance  whatever,  wralked  into  my 
little  room,  and,  having  introduced  himself  with  a 
free,  natural  courtesy,  uttered  words  of  approbation 
and  encouragement,  I  felt  that  his  single  approval 
was  worth  all  the  plaudits  of  all  the  lawyers'  offices 
and  warehouses  and  counting-rooms  put  together. 
When  I  thanked  him,  I  meant  what  I  said ;  for  I 
had  many  advisers,  who  were  but  Job's  comforters 
at  best  While  they  were  hanging  John  Brown  in 


A    GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  209 

Virginia,  Mr.  Parker  with  his  dying  hand  was 
writing  from  Italy,  "  There  is  a  glorious  future  for 
America, — but  the  other  side  of  the  Eed  Sea."  He, 
too,  was  of  the  prophets. 

The  Eepublican  party  in  Massachusetts  began  in 
a  small  sort  of  way.  In  1855  was  nominated  that 
respectable  man,  Julius  Eockwell,  for  governor,  and 
he  received  a  little  over  thirty-six  thousand  votes. 
It  was  rather  a  doleful  lookout  for  my  poor  old 
newspaper,  "  The  Boston  Atlas,"  which  had  taken  its 
life  in  its  hand  and  gone  into  the  contest  for  free- 
dom and  for  the  delivery  of  the  State  from  the 
thraldom  of  the  absurd  and  unwholesome  American 
party.  That  party  had  done  as  it  pleased,  and  had 
done  very  badly.  The  year  before  it  had  possessed 
the  entire  legislature,  and  had  afforded  a  valuable 
example  of  the  danger  of  unlimited  political  power. 
We  had  to  bear,  while  this  transition  was  going  on, 
the  jeers  and  scoffs  of  our  prosperous  contemporaries, 
who  still  found  profit  in  clinging  to  the  name  of 
Whig,  and  who  scolded  us  most  uncivilly  because 
we  would  say  that  the  Whig  party  was  dead.  It 
was  amusing  to  observe  how  sure  they  were  that  it 
was  still  living,  and  would  probably  elect  the  next 
President.  The  "  Atlas  "  was  a  traitor,  and  deserved 
only  the  treatment  of  a  traitor.  I  am  mortified  to 
admit  that  those  Boston  journalists  who  now  figure 
as  orthodox  Eepublicans  got  altogether  the  best  of 
us.  For  years  ours  had  been  the  leading  Whig 
newspaper  of  New  England.  The  property  had 
14 


210       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

been  regarded  as  valuable ;  it  had  always  paid  good 
dividends.  Gradually,  and  simply  because  we  in- 
sisted that  the  "Whig  party  had  filled  the  measure 
of  its  usefulness  ;  because  we  averred  that  it  could 
be  of  no  benefit  to  the  country  to  struggle  against 
hope  to  maintain  it ;  because  we  persistently  pro- 
claimed that  new  occasions  had  brought  new  duties  ; 
in  short,  because  we  were  not  deaf  and  blind,  and 
stupider  than  stupid,  we  lost  our  advertising,  we 
lost  our  circulation,  we  lost  the  prestige  which  we 
had  so  long  enjoyed.  Soon  after  I  left  it,  the  stock- 
holders of  the  "Atlas  "  were  glad  to  sell  out,  and  to  be 
absorbed  in  Mr.  Samuel  Bowles's  grand  scheme  for 
establishing  a  great  metropolitan  journal  in  Boston, 
—  that  enterprise  which,  starting  with  such  prodi- 
gious dclat,  speedily  came  to  grief  of  all  kinds,  and 
ended  with  the  return  of  Mr.  Bowles  to  his  old 
sphere  in  Springfield,  no  more  to  try  experiments  in 
rejoining  the  disjecta  membra  of  half-defunct  news- 
papers, or  in  making  for  the  city  of  Boston  a  better 
one  than  it  really  wanted.  I  have  seen  all  that  I 
hoped  for  accomplished,  and  may  even  turn  with 
pardonable  complacency  to  the  fulfilment  of  proph- 
ecies which  I  made  years  ago,  in  common  with  some 
other  men,  and  made  only  to  be  laughed  at  and 
sneered  at.  Upon  the  "  Boston  Atlas "  I  had  my 
last  experience  in  managing  a  newspaper,  and  I 
never  desire  another.  One  may  be  a  pretty  good 
writer  and  yet  a  bad  manager ;  and  the  pangs  of 
responsibility,  in  my  opinion,  are  much  greater  than 


A   GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  211 

its  pleasures.  It  is  one  thing  to  risk  your  own 
money  or  reputation ;  it  is  quite  another  to  put  the 
capital  stock  of  other  people  in  jeopardy.  They  will 
be  sure  to  come  and  advise  you.  Heavens !  how  they 
used  to  come  and  advise  me,  and  fill  my  inmost 
soul  with  pins  and  needles !  Sometimes  I  wrote 
too  much  about  slavery,  and  was  risking  the  patron- 
age of  the  great  house  on  Long  Wharf,  which  had 
delicate  commercial  relations  with  New  Orleans  or 
Savannah  ;  sometimes  I  did  not  write  enough 
about  slavery,  and  seemed  really  to  be  helping  the 
doughfaces ;  sometimes  the  Rev.  Mr.  Canonicus, 
D.  D.,  had  expressed  a  decided  disapprobation  of 
one  of  my  articles ;  sometimes  an  ineffably  great 
lawyer  in  Court  Street  had  done  me  the  honor  to 
disagree  with  me.  One  could  not  turn  without 
treading  on  the  corns  of  somebody.  Did  I  not 
think  that  I  had  gone  a  little  too  far  in  my  article 
on  Wednesday  ?  And  could  n't  I  take  it  all  back, 
without  seeming  to  take  it  back,  on  Friday  ?  How 
about  putting  it  in  this  way?  How  about  put- 
ting it  in  that  way  ?  We  must  be  wise,  we 
must  be  prudent,  we  must  be  cautious ;  we  must 
not  frighten  the  dear  public,  though  I  could  not 
see  why  not,  as  the  dear  public  was  so  frightening 
us.  We  were  beaten  in  the  Fremont  campaign, 
through  bad  management  on  our  part,  "and  good 
financial  management  on  the  part  of  the  Democrats, 
particularly  in  Pennsylvania;  and  my  editorial 
career  in  Boston  came  speedily  to  a  close.  If  I 


212       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

have  dwelt  too  long  upon  the  failure,  it  is  because  I 
am  rather  proud  of  it.  Several  of  the  good  men 
who  gave  me  such  profound  advice  have  gone  where 
advice  is  not  needed ;  and  I  have  since  got  along 
tolerably  well  with  much  less  of  that  commodity. 

It  was  my  fortune  in  those  days  to  find  myself 
oftenest  in  a  lean  and  beggarly  minority.  I  was  al- 
ways ready  to  rush  impetuously  forward,  and  to  im- 
plore those  who  were  in  a  position  to  do  so  to  take 
the  initiative,  whatever  might  be  the  cost.  I  think 
that  there  was  vouchsafed  to  me  even  then  some 
prescience  of  the  events  which  were  not  far  distant. 
I  did  not  see  how  the  great  conflict  could  be  averted ; 
but  I  differed  from  many  who  were  associated  with 
me,  in  not  desiring  that  it  should  be.  One  grew 
naturally  tired  of  trusting  to  the  loyalty  and  good 
faith  of  the  slaveholders ;  and  I  thought  that  Prov- 
idence had  opened  a  way,  through  the  fatuity  of 
the  advocates  of  slavery,  for  ridding  the  republic 
of  that  "  body  of  death."  Yet  those  who  professed 
to  hate  compromise  were  still  timid,  or  had  personal 
and  pecuniary  reasons  for  caution.  After  victory  came, 
they  were  not  averse  to  sharing  in  its  substantial 
results  ;  but  I  never  found  them  particularly  mindful 
of  those  who  worked  humbly  in  the  beginning,  and 
were  too  obscure  to  be  rewarded. 

Why  doesn't  somebody,  with  experience  and 
cleverness  enough  for  the  task,  give  us  a  history 
of  presidential  elections,  — of  their  manoeuvres,  as- 
pects, methods,  peculiarities  ?  With  such  topics  he 


A    GOSSIP  OF  POLITICS.  213 

might  be  grave,  gay,  satirical,  philosophical,  if  he 
had  but  brains  enough  to  grapple  with  the  subject. 
Take,  for  instance,  one  feature  of  such  contests,  — 
their  tendency  to  make  business  for  men  who  have 
no  business  of  their  own,  for  those  camp-followers 
of  each  political  party  who,  during  a  few  months  in 
the  fall  and  early  winter,  insist  upon  being  gener- 
ally useful,  and  are  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
raising  money,  a  part  of  which  at  least  is  never 
heard  of  again ;  suggesting,  advising,  going  on  long 
journeys  at  the  shortest  notice,  and  coming  back 
again  in  the  most  undesirable  way.  Eecruits  of  this 
highly  useful  class  were  particularly  numerous  dur- 
ing the  Fremont  campaign.  The  status  of  the  party 
was  not  exactly  settled  ;  it  was  not  precisely  deter- 
mined who  should  be  the  great  men  and  who  the 
little  ones  in  the  new  organization,  and  this  resulted 
in  something  like  anarchy.  I  knew  a  helpful 
gentleman  of  the  kind  above  alluded  to  who  was 
dreadfully  grieved,  as  he  had  reason  to  be,  when  we 
were  routed.  He  would  come  to  my  office  to  see 
what  I  meant  to  print  next  morning,  and  sometimes 
he  approved  and  sometimes  disapproved;  then  he 
would  hire  a  buggy  and  drive  out  to  Waltham  to 
see  General  Banks;  then  he  would  invite  half  a 
dozen  men  to  dinner,  —  and  a  very  good  dinner,  I  am 
bound  to  say,  with  much  grave  discussion  of  the 
situation  after  the  cloth  was  off,  though  I  never 
could  see  that  all  our  talk  had  any  perceptible  effect 
upon  the  aspects  and  chances  of  the  battle;  then 
our  friend  would  rush  to  New  York  to  "  shut  up  " 


214       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

somebody  who  had  said,  done,  or  printed  something 
which  he  should  have  left  unsaid,  undone,  or  in 
manuscript.  Occasionally  he  would  be  thrown  into 
despair  by  some  imprudence  on  the  part  of  "Jessie," 
for  it  was  by  this  affectionate  name  that  he  usually 
spoke  of  Mrs.  Fremont.  Of  course  he  would  hurry 
away  upon  another  journey  to  set  that  matter  right. 
He  knew  everything  and  everybody.  He  had  found 
out  to  a  dollar  how  much  money  it  would  take  to 
secure  the  cooperation  of  this  or  that  great  news- 
paper ;  and  generally  his  advice  was  that  it  should 
be  raised  at  once.  When  an  emissary  came  from 
Pennsylvania  to  beg  in  Boston  for  the  sinews  of  war, 
and  tell  us  of  the  lavish  expenditure  of  the  Demo- 
crats, Mr. was  horror-  stricken  at  the  destitution 

of  the  Fremontaneers  of  that  State,  and  went  from 
counting-room  to  counting-room  with  the  financial 
ambassador,  asking  for  subscriptions  to  relieve  their 
sinewless  condition.  When  the  fatal  hour  arrived, 
and  all  our  delicious  dreams  faded  to  the  dull 
reality  of  defeat,  he  knew  all  about  the  causes  of 
the  catastrophe.  To  these  I  listened  with  unflinch- 
ing politeness  and  little  interest.  I  knew  that  the 
victory  of  truth  and  humanity  and  common-sense 
would  come  in  time  ;  and  if  the  country  could  wait, 
it  was  not  for  a  humble  journalist  to  be  in  a  hurry. 
In  justice  to  the  gentleman  of  whom  I  have  spoken, 
I  may  say  that  he  was  generous,  genial,  and  of  per- 
fect veracity ;  and  this  is  more  than  I  should  be  able 
with  truth  to  say  of  all  the  "active"  politicians 
whom  I  have  encountered. 


HORACE  GREELEY.  215 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

HOKACE  GKEELEY. 

COMING  TO  NEW  YORK.  — MISREPRESENTATIONS  OF  MR.  GREELEY. 

—  His  PERSONAL  OPINIONS  APART  FROM  POLITICS.  —  His 
LOVE  OF  EIGHT  AND  TRUTH.  —  PEOPLE  WHO  ANNOYED  HIM. 

—  His  JOURNALISTIC  CHARACTERISTICS.  —  His  PLAIN  SPEECH 
AND  WIT  AND  HUMOR.  —  THE  PRESIDENTIAL  CANVASS.  — MR. 
GREELEY'S  DEATH. 

SO  far  as  my  career  as  a  journalist  in  that  town 
was  concerned,  matters  in  Boston,  after  the 
Fremont  campaign,  soon  came  to  an  end.  It  was 
expected  that  I  could  write  a  newspaper  out  of 
predestinate  insolvency,  —  a  feat  which  never  has 
been  performed  by  any  editor,  however  clever,  and 
never  will  be.  The  experiment  has  been  tried  a 
hundred  times,  and  it  has  always  failed.  Men  with 
more  money  than  knowledge  buy  a  newspaper  be- 
cause they  want  political  influence,  or  are  possessed 
by  a  hunger  for  office.  Having  secured  the  property, 
they  look  about  for  an  editor.  Having  secured  the 
editor,  they  edit  him.  They  expect  him  to  restore 
elasticity  to  the  treasury  of  the  establishment  by 
being,  in  his  articles,  powerful,  satirical,  or,  above  all, 
funny.  They  are  always  ready  kindly  to  show  him 
how  to  do  it.  They  believe  in  him,  or  else  why  do 
they  pay  him  money  for  his  work  ?  They  do  not 


216       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

believe  in  him,  or  else  why  do  they  bother  him  ? 
The  difficulty  is  that  they  do  not  know  exactly  what 
they  want.  This  statement  must  be  made  with  a 
reservation  in  favor  of  dividends.  These  are  desired 
most  decidedly.  When  they  did  not  come  in  to  the 
Atlas  office,  it  was  evident  that  I  was  not  the  man 
they  had  supposed  me  to  be.  They  told  me  so,  at 
some  annual  or  quarterly  or  monthly  meeting ;  and  I 
answered  by  showing  them  a  letter  from  the  editor 
of  the  "New  York  Tribune,"  offering  me  a  position 
upon  the  staff  of  that  newspaper.  I  have  had  two 
or  three  triumphs  in  my  life,  and  this  was  one  of 
them.  It  brings  me,  in  rather  a  roundabout  way, 
I  fear,  to  the  subject  of  the  present  chapter. 

I  do  not  know  any  man  who  has  been  more 
stupidly,  nonsensically,  and  malevolently  written 
about  than  Mr.  Horace  Greeley.  Some  even  of  those 
who  desired  to  speak  of  him  respectfully  have 
blundered;  when  he  died,  and  the  whole  country 
seemed  eager  to  honor  his  memory,  there  was  a  most 
unnecessary  tone  of  apology  for  what  were  regarded 
as  his  eccentricities  and  weaknesses.  I  take  issue 
upon  both  points.  I  do  not  consider  him  to  have 
been  an  eccentric,  I  most  certainly  do  not  think 
him  to  have  been  a  weak  man.  It  must  be  re- 
membered that,  of  all  journalists  of  his  time,  he 
put  his  individuality  into  his  newspaper.  He  made 
it  somewhat  uncommonly  the  medium  of  his  private 
and  personal  opinions  about  matters  which  were  not 
at  all  connected  with  public  affairs.  In  fact,  during 


HORACE  GREELEY.  217 

its  first  years,  Mr.  Greeley  was  "  The  Tribune  "  and 
"  The  Tribune  "  was  Mr.  Greeley.  He  did  not  pro- 
fess .  to  be  merely  a  politician.  He  had  strong 
political  attachments,  but  party  itself  was  always 
his  helper,  never  his  master.  He  had  opinions  of 
which  no  discussion  ever  occurred  in  the  caucus, 
upon  which  no  popular  decision  was  ever  pro- 
nounced at  the  polls ;  and  he  proclaimed  these  in 
his  newspaper,  without  once  asking  whether  they 
would  help  or  hurt  the  business  or  his  party.  In 
the  beginning,  he  entertained  ideas  of  labor  reform, 
which  were  afterward  somewhat  modified,  and  he 
turned  from  the  consideration  of  politics  and  the 
advocacy  of  nominees,  to  press  these  ideas  upon 
the  public  attention.  He  did  not  think  capital 
punishment  to  be  either  humane  or  expedient,  and 
he  said  so.  He  was,  practically  and  theoretically,  a 
temperance  man,  and  even  a  prohibitionist,  and  the 
readers^of  his  newspaper  were  not  left  in  ignorance 
of  the  fact.  He  was  interested  in  agricultural  pur- 
suits, and  was  as  likely  to  write  a  leading  article 
about  sorghum  as  one  concerning  the  next  presi- 
dency. In  his  comparative  youth,  he  held  that 
human  beings  should  not  eat  meat;  but  though  he 
cherished  this  harmless  delusion  only  for  a  little 
while,  he  did  so  with  such  characteristic  enthusiasm 
that  half  the  world  continued  to  the  last  to  believe 
that  the  great  editor  subsisted  entirely  upon  Graham 
bread  and  potatoes. 

There  were  two  peculiarities  of  his  intellectual 


218       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

constitution  not  often  found  together.  He  was  at 
once  speculative  and  practical.  He  had  a  boundless 
hospitality  for  new  opinions,  which  he  desired  at 
once  to  submit  to  the  ordeal  of  actual  experiment. 
But  I  think  that  he  found  out  the  failures  just  as 
soon  as  anybody ;  and  certainly  no  one  could  com- 
ment upon  them  with  drier  sarcasm  or  more  good- 
humored  frankness.  If  he  had  started  a  Fourier 
phalanx,  he  would  have  been  the  first  to  discover  the 
weak  working  points.  I  remember  him  pulling  out 
of  his  pocket  a  small  bottle  of  sorghum  sugar,  con- 
taining probably  five  ounces,  and  exhibiting  it,  half 
sheepishly  and  half  triumphantly,  as  the  net  pro- 
duction of  his  cultivation  of  that  new  plant.  For  a 
mean  act  he  had  no  mercy ;  for  a  clumsy  or  careless 
one,  but  little ;  but  his  fund  of  good-nature  was  in- 
domitable. He  once,  for  some  reason,  reported  a 
dinner  in  "  The  Tribune,"  and  told  the  public  that 
among  the  beverages  provided  were  "  ffeidseck,  claret, 
port,  champagne,  and  other  wines."  When  he  was 
chaffed  about  this,  by  those  who  took  such  liberties 
sometimes,  he  only  laughed,  and  said,  "  Well,  I  am 
the  only  man  in  the  office  who  could  have  made 
such  a  mistake  as  that,"  which,  I  am  afraid,  was 
literally  true.  Almost  always  overworked,  he  was 
naturally  irritated  by  intrusions  upon  his  privacy. 
For  a  long  time,  his  efforts  to  cloister  himself  up 
were,  I  am  bound  to  say,  humiliating  failures.  All 
sorts  of  people,  with  the  greatest  possible  variety  of 
bees  in  their  bonnets,  managed  to  evade  the  slight 


HORACE  GREELEY.  219 

barriers,  get  into  his  presence,  and  interrupt  his  in- 
dustry, —  people  with  machines  of  perpetual  motion ; 
with  theories  about  Spiritualism ;  with  notions  about 
the  next  election ;  with  business  plans  only  requir- 
ing a  small  loan  to  launch  them  upon  the  full  tide 
of  dividend-paying  experiment.  There  were  others 
with  a  passionate  desire  to  borrow  small  or  large 
sums  of  money;  with  anxiety  to  become  writers 
upon  his  newspaper ;  with  manuscripts  which  they 
wished  to  have  recommended  to  some  publisher  of 
books ;  with  new  religions ;  with  schemes  for  the 
abolition  of  every  religion  whatever;  with  mining 
stocks  sure  to  pay  a  thousand  per  cent ;  with  stories 
of  personal  destitution  harrowing  to  listen  to,  and 
yet  only  requiring  the  loan  of  a  few  shillings  to  en- 
able the  petitioner  to  go  to  his  friends;  widows 
whose  sole  claim  upon  him  or  upon  anybody  was 
that  they  were  widows ;  orphans,  sometimes  suspi- 
ciously well  grown,  who  had  nothing  to  plead  but 
their  orphanage ;  Irishmen  who  had  lost  everything 
in  a  desperate  attempt  to  give  the  green  island  a  bet- 
ter government ;  negroes  who,  perhaps,  were  born 
free  and  were  merely  fugitives  from  Maine  or  Mas- 
sachusetts, —  all  these  and  many  others  besieged  the 
sanctum,  and  devised  tricks  for  swindling  its-  occu- 
pant. I  am  satisfied  that  if  Mr.  Greeley  could  have 
locked  his  door  and  kept  it  locked,  he  would  have 
died  a  much  richer  man.  He  would  try  sometimes 
to  be  extremely  stern  and  repellent,  but  it  was 
always  a  lamentable  failure. 


220       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

I  happened  to  witness  one  interview  which  was 
sufficiently  amusing.  A  widow,  or  at  least  a  woman 
in  black,  wanted  to  go  somewhere,  or  set  up  a  school, 
or  start  a  mission  in  some  far-away  region  of  Africa, 
or  do  something  for  sewing-girls  —  never  mind  what ! 
Mr.  Greeley,  who  was  up  to  his  eyes  in  work,  re- 
peatedly told  her  to  go  away,  and  kept  on  writing. 
But  going  away  was  the  last  thing  which  the  petti- 
coated  philanthropist  proposed  to  do.  She  kept  on 
talking,  and  Mr.  Greeley  kept  on  writing  as  well  as 
he  could;  until  at  last,  in  sheer  desperation,  he 
rushed  to  the  speaking-tube  which  led  to  the  count- 
ing-room, and  bawled  querulously  through  it,  "S , 

for  God's  sake,  send  me  up  five  dollars ! "  The 
money  came  up ;  and  having  thrust  it  into  her  hand, 
and  resolutely  discouraged  the  long  speech  of  thanks 
which  she  instantly  began  to  make,  Mr.  Greeley  half 
bowed  and  half  put  her  out  of  the  little  room,  and 
went  back  to  his  work  with  a  complacent  smile 
illuminating  his  amiable  face.  He  had  purchased 
his  time,  and  had  paid  a  pretty  good  price  for  it. 

It  is  not  easy  to  reconcile  the  fine  common-sense 
which  Mr.  Greeley  possessed,  and  which  is  so  evi- 
dent in  his  political  and  other  public  work,  with  the 
almost  infantile  simplicity  which  he  sometimes  ex- 
hibited when  beset  by  the  impecunious  and  design- 
ing. I  attribute  many  of  his  mistaken  charities  to 
impatience  of  interruption.  But  there  were  other 
and  larger  swindles  practised  upon  him,  which  re- 
main to  this  day  a  mystery,  unless  we  assign  them, 


HORACE   GREELEY.  221 

as  I  am  inclined  to  do,  to  a  kindness  of  heart,  which 
a  long  intercourse  with  a  thankless  world  had  failed 
to  impair.  His  nature  must  have  had  two  sides. 
Tell  him  a  story  of  wrong,  of  injustice,  of  dishon- 
orable conduct,  of  selfish  falsehood,  and  he  was  in 
arms  instantly,  and  made  a  comment  upon  the  nar- 
rative in  which  English  of  the  choicest  and  English 
not  quite  so  polite  were  piquantly  mingled.  But 
tell  him  a  story  of  want,  of  suffering,  of  a  woman  in 
trouble,  of  a  man  subjected  to  undeserved  embar- 
rassment, and  if  the  tears  did  not  come  out  of  his 
eyes,  the  money  was  pretty  sure  to  come  out  of  his 
pocket.  Nothing  moved  him  to  wrath  like  a  lie.  I 
am  about  to  say  what  it  is  perilous,  I  know,  to  say, 
at  least  in  the  uncharitable  estimation  of  the  public, 
of  a  newspaper  man ;  but  I  am,  for  the  credit  of  the 
craft,  compelled  to  declare,  as  I  would  do  under 
oath,  that,  to  the  best  of  my  knowledge  and  belief, 
Horace  Greeley  never  printed  anything  which  at  the 
time  of  printing  it  he  did  not  believe  to  be  abso- 
lutely true.  He  may  have  erred,  for  to  err  is  human ; 
he  may  have  been  misled  by  feeling,  by  prejudice, 
or  l?y  passion ;  but  he  never,  in  all  his  life,  averred 
that  to  be  a  fact  which  he  knew  to  be  a  falsehood. 
Perhaps  to  some  readers  this  praise  —  for  it  is  meant 
to  be  praise  —  may  seem  to  be  slight,  whereas  I  offer 
it  as  the  highest  tribute  to  his  memory.  He  was 
not  trained  in  a  truthful  school.  The  journalism  of 
his  youth  was  far  from  scrupulous,  and  for  that  mat- 
ter, neither  was  the  journalism  of  his  middle  age. 


222       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

Newspapers  are  more  careful  now  than  they  once 
were.  Public  men  were  at  that  time  egregiously 
libelled  with  malice  prepense.  Election  returns 
were  persistently  falsified,  political  questions  were 
elaborately  misrepresented.  Mr.  Greeley  had  his 
passions  and  prejudices  like  other  editors,  and  said 
things  sometimes  in  the  heat  of  controversy  which  it 
was  necessary  to  retract ;  but  was  there  ever  a  jour- 
nalist readier  to  acknowledge  his  error  ?  indeed,  was 
there  ever  one  who  absolutely  took  so  much  pleasure 
in  admitting  his  mistakes  ?  Why  shouldn't  he  ?  It 
was  truth  always  which  he  was  in  pursuit  of,  —  truth 
religious,  political,  social,  scientific.  Is  it  wonder- 
ful, then,  that  he  sometimes  lost  his  temper,  when 
he  found  his  opinions  misstated,  his  cherished  belief 
ridiculed,  his  convictions,  painfully  reached  by  long 
study  and  reflection,  treated  as  the  whim-whams  of 
a  notional  speculator,  his  person  caricatured,  his 
habits  belied,  the  sanctuary  of  his  private  life  in- 
vaded, his  reasonable  ambitions  ridiculed,  his  services 
to  much  smaller  men  than  himself  most  ungratefully 
forgotten  ?  I  suppose  that  the  word  "  lie,"  which  he 
was  accused  of  using  altogether  too  freely,  had  to 
him  a  peculiar  significance.  It  was  short;  it  was 
also  unmistakable ;  its  use  was  the  readiest  and 
most  convenient  method  of  settling  a  dispute  which 
promised  to  be  endless ;  it  was  a  saving  of  time, 
which  was  precious,  and  of  space  in  the  newspaper, 
which  was  more  so.  He  had  a  faculty  of  applying 
epithets  to  his  antagonists  which  stuck,  and  passed 


HORACE   GREELEY.  223 

into  the  vocabulary  of  political  controversy.  He 
could  smite  an  opponent  with  a  phrase,  and  stop  a 
debate  which  promised  to  be  endless  by  the  adroit 
use  of  a  single  word.  He  used  to  deal  in  this  way 
sometimes  with  the  long-winded,  longitudinous  and 
latitudinous  correspondents  of  "  The  Tribune."  He 
would  append  to  a  communication  of  half  a  column, 
which  his  love  of  fair  play  had  betrayed  him  into 
printing,  a  couple  of  lines  which  made  havoc  of  the 
writer's  facts  or  opinions,  or  of  both.  I  could  give 
a  hundred  specimens  of  his  dry  humor  or  wit,  if 
either  needed  demonstration.  The  sharpest  or  the 
drollest  things  came  out  of  his  mouth  with  a  won- 
derful readiness  and  ease.  For  instance,  a  woman 
had  been  sending  to  him  verses,  some  of  which  he 
printed  and  some  of  which  he  did  not.  She  em- 
ployed a  friend  to  call  upon  Mr.  Greeley  and  to  hint 
to  him  that  pecuniary  remuneration  would  be  en- 
tirely acceptable.  The  plainest  of  plain  speakers 
settled  the  matter  at  once.  "Tell  her,"  he  said, 
"  that  we  should  be  willing  to  pay  her  something  for 
not  sending  us  any  more."  It  seems  hard,  but 
really  and  at  bottom  it  was  benevolent.  That  phrase 
of  his,  "  Go  West,  young  man  ! "  which  has  been  so 
often  quoted,  was  after  all  the  height  of  pitiful  com- 
miseration, as  it  was  also  a  condensation  of  whole 
volumes  of  economical  wisdom.  To  get  Mr.  Greeley 
at  his  best  expression,  it  was  necessary  to  make  him 
angry.  Then  every  word  was  like  the  blow  of  a 
trained  pugilist.  He  dandled  with  facts  and  specu- 


i 

224       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

lated  with  figures  no  longer.  He  never  needed  then 
to  employ  the  space  in  the  editorial  columns  which 
was  his  as  a  matter  of  course,  if  he  pleased  to  occupy 
it.  One !  two !  three  !  and  the  luckless  object  of  his 
wrath  fell,  metaphorically  speaking,  before  him. 
Sometimes  it  was  only  One  !  two  !  and  sometimes, 
indeed,  only  One ! 

The  story  of  Mr.  Greeley's  life  has  been  so  often 
and  so  well  written,  that  of  its  mere  details  there  is 
nothing  very  new  to  be  given  here.  Yet  he  was  one 
of  those  men  about  whose  personal  peculiarities  the 
public  was  always  curious.  It  may  please  those  who 
long  read  his  newspaper  with  admiration  and  profit 
to  know,  that  in  spite  of  a  certain  superficial  cyni- 
cism of  manner,  he  was  as  kind-hearted  as  a  woman. 
He  had  great  control  of  himself  in  emergencies,  and 
could  meet  disaster  like  a  rock.  People  who  thought 
that  the  result  of  the  presidential  canvass  killed  him, 
little  knew  the  stuff  of  which  he  was  made.  The 
day  upon  which  the  child  whom  he  loved  so  well 
died,  saw  him  at  his  desk  in  the  office,  doing  his  usual 
work,  and  evidently  striving  to  get  away  from  the 
desolation  of  that  bereavement,  if  only  for  an  hour. 

Burke  said  in  his  "  Letter  to  a  Noble  Lord,"  that 
Nitor  in  adversum  was  the  only  motto  for  a  man 
like  himself;  and  Mr.  Greeley's  life  from  the  begin- 
ning was  "a  struggle.  People  thought  that  he  had 
been  fortunate,  and  in  the  conventional  sense  of  the 
word,  perhaps  he  was.  His  ambition  to  build  up  a 
great  newspaper  was  amply  gratified.  His  desire  for 


HORACE  C  REE  LEY.  225 

a  numerous  and  respectful  constituency  of  readers 
was  not  less  so.  If  honorable  fame  was  pleasant  to 
his  soul,  he  had  quite  enough  of  it.  But  I  think 
that  he  wanted  something  more.  Denounced  by  his 
enemies  as  a  mere  theorist ;  foolishly  proclaimed 
over  and  over  again  a  man  of  fantastic  notions ;  set 
down  by  some  of  his  critics  as  an  advocate  of  shallow 
and  impracticable  changes  in  the  body  politic,  its 
laws,  its  customs,  its  classifications,  I  think  he  would 
have  liked  the  opportunity  of  showing  that  he  was 
not  devoid  of  that  plain  and  simple  wisdom  by  which 
States  are  well  governed,  as  most  assuredly  he  was 
not.  He  used  to  say  jestingly,  or  half  so,  that  there 
was  only  one  office  which  he  desired,  —  he  would 
like  to  be  Postmaster-General  of  the  United  States. 
He  would  have  got  rid  of  much  circumlocution  in 
that  department  as  it  then  existed,  and  have  rigidly 
subjected  it  to  the  rules  of  common-sense.  He  was 
a  good  member  of  the  House  of  Representatives  ;  and 
if  he  had  been  made  a  senator,  as  he  should  have 
been,  neither  the  dignity  nor  the  efficiency  of  that 
august  body  would  have  suffered  from  his  presence. 
Considering  the  stuff  of  which  Presidents  of  the 
United  States  have  sometimes  been  made,  the  pre- 
sumption of  his  success  in  that  office  is  by  no  means 
a  violent  one.  There  were  those  who  distrusted  his 
ability  to  read  character  accurately,  and  doubted 
whether  his  appointments  would  always  have  been 
wise.  As  appointments  never  are,  whoever  may  be 
President,  perhaps  this  matter  is  not  worth  discuss- 
15 


226       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

ing,  though  I  should  not  in  the  least  fear  the  dis- 
cussion. Here  was  a  man  unrivalled  in  his  knowledge 
of  the  political  history  of  the  country,  and  with  a 
natural  love  of  public  affairs,  whose  whole  heart  was 
in  the  adjustment  of  those  peculiar  and  sectional 
differences  which,  after  the  war,  threatened  the  sta- 
bility of  the  Union ;  who  had  dared  to  believe  and 
say  that  a  policy  of  reconciliation  was  better  than  a 
policy  of  hatred  and  revenge ;  who  was  of  such  thor- 
ough integrity  that  all  the  forces  of  gravitation  could 
not  have  fastened  a  dishonest  dollar  to  his  palm ;  a 
man  trained  in  the  school  of  exact  discussion,  and 
with  clear  and  definite  opinions  ;  not  without  a  prac- 
tical knowledge  of  the  conditions  necessary  to  the 
existence  of  any  party ;  a  belief  in  justice  and  right- 
eousness, as  well  as  in  the  minutest  particulars  of 
policy.  The  people  decided  that  he  should  not  be 
their  President,  and  to  the  will  of  the  people  his 
friends  and  supporters  were  compelled  to  bow ;  but 
having  all  my  life  made  a  study  of  Presidents,  with 
varying  opinions  of  their  qualifications  and  charac- 
ter, I  am  satisfied  that  the  office  would  have  suffered 
nothing  from  Mr.  Greeley's  incumbency  even  in 
minor  matters.  Dr.  Johnson  used  to  astonish  his 
friends  by  declaring  himself  to  be  a  very  polite  man. 
I  believe  that  substantially  Mr.  Greeley  would  have 
made  what  I  may  call  a  courtly  chief  magistrate. 
He  was  sometimes  harsh  of  speech,  and  when  he 
'  disapproved  he  did  so  vigorously  ;  but  he  was  at  heart 
a  perfect  gentleman,  and  utterly  incapable  of  pre- 


HORACE   GREELEY.  227 

meditated  incivility.  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  allowed 
that  he  was  dreadfully  deficient  in  deportment. 
There  was  not  an  infinitesimal  grain  of  the  Turvey- 
drop  in  his  nature.  He  had  no .  high-shouldered 
graces,  and  could  not,  like  Sir  Archy  McSycophant, 
"  boo  and  boo  and  boo."  But  he  showed,  all  through 
the  great  canvass  with  which  his  name  will  be  his- 
torically associated,  not  merely  that  speech-making 
ability  which  nobody  had  before  thought  him  to 
possess,  but  also  a  kindness,  a  complaisance,  and  a 
courtesy  which  were  his  before,  but  which  were  nat- 
urally more  and  more  developed  by  the  occasion. 

It  was  hard  that  such  a  man,  in  such  a  great  mat- 
ter, should  have  been  so  disappointed,  and  that  the 
greater  pain  of  his  death  should  have  been  added  to 
the  comparatively  insignificant  pain  of  his  defeat. 
Something  there  was  of  tragedy  in  it,  but  something 
also  of  reassurance.  That  he  should  have  been 
named  for  the  presidency  at  all  was  in  itself  a  tri- 
umph. That  such  a  vast  number  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens should  have  voted  for  him  was  in  itself  a  victory. 
If  he  had  gone  back  to  his  newspaper,  strong  in 
health,  he  could  have  amply  held  his  own  against 
all  comers,  with  the  old  cheerful  courage  and  skill. 
It  is  to  use  no  commonplace  of  consolation  to  say 
that  his  was  a  better  fortune.  After  such  "  a  busy 
life,"  it  was  well  that  he  should  cease  from  his  labors. 
He  died  a  private  citizen,  and  he  was  mourned  for 
by  the  nation.  He  died  after  a  great  failure,  and 
his  were  the  obsequies  of  a  victor.  He  died  plain 


228       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

Horace  Greeley,  and  that,  perhaps,  was  better  than 
to  die  President. 

In  the  office  of  the  newspaper  which  he  founded, 
a  hundred  stories  are  yet  told,  not  only  of  his  be- 
neficence, but  of  his  singular  manner  of  showing  it. 
The  men  under  him  knew  his  ways  and  humored 
them.  Those  who  survive  have  countless  tales  of  his 
kindness,  of  his  appreciation  of  good  work,  and  of 
his  impatience  of  that  which  was  not  good ;  how  he 
once,  being  applied  to  for  a  loan,  thrust  his  purse 
into  the  hands  of  one  of  his  employes  and  told  him 
to  take  it,  but  for  Heaven's  sake  not  to  interrupt  his 
writing ;  how  one  night,  when  the  toil  was  heavy 
upstairs,  he  extemporized  a  banquet  of  pie  and  cheese 
upon  the  composing-stone ;  how  he  once  rushed  out 
of  his  sanctum  into  the  editorial  room  to  ask  what 
fool  wrote  a  certain  article,  and  how  the  fool  answered 
the  question  in  person.  These  are  but  trifling  anec- 
dotes ;  but  the  reader  may  not  be  impatient  of  them, 
if  they  show  that  the  great  editor  was  loved  as  well 
as  respected,  and  that  urbanity  of  character  is  not 
inconsistent  with  perfect  plainness  of  demeanor  and 
of  speech. 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.          229 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

OLD   FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES. 

MR.  GREELEY  AGAIN.  —  His  EDITORIAL  METHODS.  —  His  MEM- 
ORY OF  WHAT  PLEASED  HIM.  —  RlCHARD  HlLDRETH.  — WlL- 

LIAM    H.   FRY.  —  THE  COUNT    GUROWSKI.  —  DR.   GEORGE 
EIPLEY. 

A  NOTHER  word  or  two  of  our  old  and  sorely- 
-£j-  lamented  chief!  Others  have  expressed 
pleasure  at  the  characterization  of  Mr.  Horace 
Greeley  which  I  attempted  in  my  last  chapter,  but 
I  am  myself  far  from  being  satisfied.  I  recall  traits 
which  I  have  missed,  and  find  upon  general  revision 
that  the  whole  lacks  complete  justice.  I  may  be 
pardoned  if  I  am  sensitive  in  discharging  obligations 
such  as  I  owe  to  this  excellent  man. 

Something,  I  am  sure,  should  have  been  said  of 
Mr.  Greeley's  quick  literary  sense.  He  was  a  man 
for  whom  it  was  a  pleasure  to  work.  You  thought, 
as  you  wrote,  of  how  he  would  like  this  sentence  or 
that  illustration,  and  you  were  sure  of  a  kind,  a 
competent,  and  a  catholic  judge.  He  did  not  always 
praise ;  indeed,  he  sometimes  found  a  great  deal  of 
fault,  but  he  did  so  upon  principles  which  it  was 
impossible  to  dispute,  with  an  intelligence  which 
commanded  respect,  and  according  to  universally 


230       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

accepted  canous.  He  had  one  great  merit  as  an 
editor,  —  he  comprehended  precisely  what  a  leading 
article  should  be.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he 
had  any  peculiar  notions  :  he  preferred  that  a  writer 
should  be  himself,  say  what  he  thought,  and  say  it 
in  his  own  way.  If  he  could  not  do  this  after  a 
fashion  commanding  readers  and  respect,  Mr.  Greeley 
thought  that  the  man  had  mistaken  his  vocation, 
and  advised  him  to  try  farming  or  some  other  more 
promising  enterprise.  An  editorial  writer,  dealing 
mainly  with  the  manager,  had  but  little  to  do  with 
Mr.  Greeley,  unless  that  writer  happened  to  make  a 
blunder.  Then  he  heard  from  the  small  inside 
room,  out  of  which  the  chief  would  issue  in  a  state 
of  wrath  worthy  of  the  gods. 

Thus  it  will  be  seen  that,  whoever  might  be  the 
managing  editor  of  "  The  Tribune  "  with  whom  we 
were  mainly  brought  in  contact,  it  was  Mr.  Greeley 
who  really  governed  and  shaped  the  sheet.  There 
were  considerably  long  periods  during  which  he  did 
not  write  at  all.  Often  he  would  be  absent  from 
the  office  for  several  weeks  ;  then  he  would  come 
back,  and  for  a  little  while  fill  the  whole  editorial 
page ;  and  again  he  would  disappear.  But  he  was 
always  the  editor  of  his  own  newspaper  when  he 
pleased  to  be.  If  he  found  it  taking  a  direction  of 
which  he  did  not  approve,  there  was  trouble,  and 
sometimes  sore  trouble,  the  particulars  of  which  do 
not  concern  the  public.  More  than  once,  especially 
during  the  difficult  days  of  the  Rebellion,  he  brought 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.          231 

the  journal  round  with  a  sharp  turn.  In  the  mere 
matter  of  having  his  own  way,  there  never  was 
an  editor-in-chief  more  positive  and  self-asserting. 
Considering  how  he  impressed  his  personality  upon 
the  newspaper,  I  do  not  so  much  wonder  at  the 
notion  of  some  of  his  most  ancient  readers,  that  all 
the  articles  which  were  particularly  brilliant  must 
have  been  written  by  himself. 

There  was  the  peculiarity  about  Mr.  Greeley's 
intellectual  constitution,  that  whatever  pleased  him 
he  never  forgot.  I  had  a  personal  experience  of 
this,  which  I  may  venture  to  relate.  I  had  written, 
soon  after  I  became  attached  to  the  newspaper,  a 
light  little  article  about  the  penny  songs  which  were 
then  exposed  for  sale  upon  the  railings  of  St.  Paul's 
Church  and  in  other  like  localities.  Twelve  years 
afterward,  though  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  trifle, 
of  which  he  did  not  say  a  word  to  me  when  it  was 
printed,  I  received  a  note  from  him  expressing  the 
wish  that  this  poor  old  article  might  be  included  in 
a  volume  of  my  contributions  to  "  The  Tribune " 
which  I  was  then  compiling.  I  blushed  with  satis- 
faction at  his  kindly  suggestion,  and  actually  pulled 
down  a  dusty  old  file  of  the  newspaper,  that  I  might 
read  what  had  given  such  a  man  pleasure  over 
again.  When  the  book  was  ready,  he  volunteered 
to  write  for  it  an  introduction,  in  which  he  said 
that  of  my  work  which,  however  undeserved,  has 
been  a  consolation  to  me  under  many  circumstances 
of  misunderstanding  and  discouragement.  Litera 


232       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

scripta  manent.  What  this  consummate  judge  of 
newspaper  writing  was  pleased  to  print  no  con- 
sideration of  modesty  shall  prevent  me  from  here 
reprinting.  "  In  the  protracted,  arduous  struggle," 
he  said,  "  which  resulted  in  the  overthrow  and  ex- 
tinction of  American  slavery,  many  were  honorably 
conspicuous :  some  by  eloquence ;  more  by  dili- 
gence ;  others  by  fearless,  absorbing,  single-eyed 
devotion  to  the  great  end :  but  he  who  most  skil- 
fully, effectively,  persistently  wielded  the  trenchant 
blade  of  Satire,  was  the  writer  of  the  following 
essays."  I  think  that  no  man,  reviewing  his  life, 
who  has  received  such  praise  from  such  a  source, 
would  resist  the  temptation  to  reproduce  it,  though 
I  hope  that  I  shall  be  believed  when  I  say  that  I 
do  so  rather  for  the  sake  of  the  illustration  which 
it  affords  of  Mr.  Greeley's  kindness  than  from 
any  prompting  of  personal  vanity.  Such  kindly 
traits  in  the  character  of  one  so  widely  beloved 
will  be  accepted  as  a  fresh  proof  of  the  generosity 
of  his  heart,  if  not  of  the  excellence  of  his  critical 
judgment. 

When  I  came  upon  the  newspaper  in  1857,  it  had 
already  taken  the  first  steps  toward  a  careful  and 
comprehensive  journalism,  and  had  ceased  to  be 
the  product  of  a  single  mind.  A  regular  foreign 
and  domestic  correspondence  had  been  established, 
and  the  editorial  contributions  had  been  multiplied 
and  improved.  Occupying  a  foremost  position  upon 
the  staff  was  Mr.  Richard  Hildreth,  who  had  been 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.          233 

my  predecessor  upon  "  The  Boston  Atlas,"  and  had 
won  an  honorable  fame,  apart  from  journalism,  as  a 
writer  of  valuable  books.  He  had  already  published 
several  volumes  of  his  admirable  "  History  of  the 
United  States,"  a  work  of  such  thorough  accuracy 
that  the  severe  and  dispassionate  style  in  which  it 
is  written  may  be  forgiven  even  by  one  who  admires 
the  resounding  sentences  of  Gibbon  or  the  brilliant 
climaxes  of  Macaulay.  In  his  newspaper  writing, 
as  in  his  historical  compositions,  Mr.  Hildreth  did 
not  rely  upon  the  graces  of  rhetoric.  He  had  no 
humor,  and  scarcely  any  wit,  but  he  brought  to  his 
work  such  comprehensive  knowledge  of  his  subject, 
whether  he  \vas  discussing  finance,  or  any  of  the 
questions  to  which  the  institution  of  slavery  gave 
rise,  that  to  answer  him  was  always  difficult  and 
frequently  impossible.  I  do  not  think  that  he 
would  now  be  regarded  as  a  good  writer  of  leading 
articles,  except  indeed  of  a  limited  class.  -As  a  rule, 
he  was  not  entertaining,  except  to  those  who  were 
absorbed  in  the  question  which  he  was  discussing ; 
but  his  hatred  of  slavery,  which  he  understood  thor- 
oughly from  personal  observation,  was  hearty  and 
uncompromising.  His  novel  of  "Archy  Moore," 
subsequently  called  "  The  "White  Slave,"  was  actually 
written  upon  a  Southern  plantation. 

Mr.  Hildreth  had  been  fighting  the  battle  of  free- 
dom ever  since  the  annexation  of  Texas,  of  which 
measure  he  was  a  vigorous  and  hearty  opponent. 
He  was  of  a  reserved  and  somewhat  uncomniunica- 


234      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

tive  nature.  He  worked  much  less  at  the  office 
than  at  home ;  and  when  he  was  with  us  he  seldom 
engaged  in  conversation,  for  which  his  infirmity  of 
deafness  unfitted  him.  His  health,  I  believe,  was 
never  strong,  but,  in  spite  of  this,  he  was  an  un- 
wearied student ;  and  a  safer  writer,  when  figures 
and  facts  were  concerned,  never  put  pen  to  paper. 
I  think  he  did  very  much  toward  giving  the  news- 
paper an  antislavery  tone ;  perhaps  at  one  time  he 
wras  in  advance  of  its  editor,  not  in  his  detestation 
of  the  institution,  but  in  his  eagerness  for  its  speedy 
overthrow ;  yet  he  was  permitted  to  write  much  as 
he  pleased,  and  the  force  of  political  circumstances 
soon  made  the  journal  one  which  the  man-owners 
hated  quite  as  heartily  as  they  hated  "  The  Liberator." 
Mr.  Hildreth  died  in  Italy  in  1865.  It  is  pleasant 
to  see  that  the  work  upon  which  he  prided  himself, 
the  "  History  of  the  United  States,"  still  holds  its 
rank,  and  that  new  editions  of  it  are  still  demanded, 
for  in  its  way  it  is  unequalled  by  any  book  of  the 
class  in  the  English  language. 

As  I  write,  I  recall,  with  mingled  feelings  of 
pleasure  and  of  pain,  several  able  and  amiable  men 
with  whom  I  then  held  daily  conversation.  One  of 
them  must  necessarily  be  mentioned  first,  and  I 
have  given  the  precedence  to  Mr.  Hildreth,  a  writer 
formed  upon  an  antique  model,  the  Tacitus  of  our 
time.  As  to  the  rest,  they  all  hold  an  equal  place 
in  my  memory.  Among  those  whom  it  was  a 
pleasure  to  meet  every  day  was  Mr.  William  H. 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.  235 

Fry,  distinguished  not  only  as  a  clever  newspaper 
writer,  but  as  a  composer  of  acknowledged  ability. 
I  do  not  know  that  any  of  his  musical  work  yet 
keeps  the  public  ear.  Some  time  before  he  died 
his  friends  in  Philadelphia  were  anxious  that  he 
should  witness  a  careful  and  complete  presentation 
of  his  opera  of  "  Leonora,"  upon  which,  when  an 
American  composer  had  little  chance  of  being  heard 
from  the  stage,  he  had  expended  so  much  labor  for 
the  mere  love  of  his  art.  Some  money  was  lavished 
with  the  greatest  good-will  upon  the  scenery  and 
decoration  and  in  the  employment  of  accomplished 
singers.  There  was  a  triumph  of  esteem,  but  under 
the  circumstances  that  was  a  matter  of  course.  But 
little  of  Mr.  Fry's  musical  work  survives,  at  least  in 
artistic  circles,  though  it  is  not  long  since  I  heard 
his  brilliant  "  Lancers  "  played  upon  a  tinkling  and 
evidently  venerable  pianoforte  in  a  beer-cellar.  It 
was  odd  to  catch  the  well-remembered  passages 
coming  up  into  the  daylight  and  mingling  with  the 
roar  and  rattle  and  rumble  of  the  Bowery.  They 
recalled  that  fine,  intellectual  face,  to  which  ill- 
health  had  lent  a  pensive  expression ;  that  engaging 
insouciance,  of  carriage,  which  had  in  it,  nevertheless, 
a  suggestion  of  grave  earnestness ;  those  gentlemanly 
manners  which  had  no  superficial  gloss,  and  were 
all  the  more  delightful  because  gentlemanly  man- 
ners are  not,  unfortunately,  so  common  as  they  once 
were. 

Mr.  Fry,  in  addition  to  the  musical  articles  which 


236       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

he  contributed  to  "The  Tribune,"  was  a  frequent 
writer  in  the  editorial  columns.  He  liked  to  discuss 
topics  of  social  interest,  matters  of  fashion,  men 
whose  follies  offered  a  fair  opportunity  for  satire,  and 
the  lighter  phases  of  politics.  He  did  this  with  a 
good-natured  badinage,  and  a  hand  which,  though 
firm,  was  not  ill-natured.  I  cannot  say  that  he  han- 
dled humbugs,  as  Izaak  Walton  directs  the  angler  to 
handle  trout,  "as  if  he  loved  them" ;  but  the  process 
of  exposure  went  on  pleasantly,  though  it  usually  left 
his  victim  in  a  condition  of  looped  and  windowed 
raggedness.  The  sufferer  had  at  least  the  pleasure 
of  being  dismembered  in  admirable  English.  He 
was  slain  in  a  style  of  which  Addison  would  have 
approved,  though  it  might  have  driven  the  average 
Professor  of  Rhetoric  mad.  During  his  last  days  in 
New  York,  Mr.  Fry  came  seldom  to  the  office.  The 
summer  of  1864  saw  him  there  sometimes,  always 
cheerful,  and  occasionally  in  those  excellent  spirits 
which  are  a  characteristic  of  the  disease  which  was 
then  rapidly  killing  him.  He  died  before  the  New 
Year,  in  the  island  of  Santa  Cruz,  not  yet  fifty  years 
of  age,  after  a  life  of  honorable  ambition  and  of  con- 
stant usefulness.  Like  Taylor  and  Hildreth,  he  ex- 
pired far  away  from  that  old  Printing  House  Square, 
which,  while  he  was  living,  knew  Tiim  so  well ;  and 
if  his  untimely  departure  was  mourned  in  many  pri- 
vate circles,  I  am  sure  that  he  was  not  less  tenderly 
regretted  in  the  office  of  which  so  often  he  had  been 
the  life  and  the  lio-ht. 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.  237 

But  who  is  this  odd  little  man,  much  bearded,  and 
with  a  semi-military  stride,  in  great  boots  outside 
his  trousers,  if  the  weather  happens  to  demand  them  ? 
The  Count  Adam  Gurowski,  Pole,  author,  revolution- 
ist, after  a  life  of  various  vicissitudes,  has  become  a 
writer  of  leading  articles  upon  foreign  topics  for 
"  The  Tribune."  One  who  began  by  being  expelled 
from  the  gymnasium  of  Warsaw  for  his  radical  poli- 
tics, at  the  early  age  of  thirteen,  was  extremely  likely 
to  pass  his  life  in  a  state  of  expulsion,  at  least  from 
most  European  kingdoms.  The  Count  Gurowski 
had  for  a  time  been  restored  to  the  good  graces  of 
the  Russian  Government;  but  matters  had  gone 
wrong  again,  and  he  was  now  in  New  York,  writing 
for  "  The  Tribune,"  mainly  upon  foreign  politics,  and 
frequently  upon  his  hobby,  which  was  the  importance 
and  the  destiny  of  the  Slavic  race.  He  had  not  at- 
tained a  sufficient  knowledge  of  our  vernacular  to 
use  it  with  accuracy.  His  papers  in  French  it  was 
necessary  to  translate;  those  in  English  to  submit 
to  a  pretty  rigid  correction.  Some  of  them  I  had 
myself  the  honor,  and  I  may  add  the  bother,  of  ma- 
nipulating; and  I  suppose  that  I  must  have  done 
the  work  tolerably  well :  if  I  had  much  blundered, 
the  count  would  have  let  me  know  it  in  a  way 
which  even  now  I  tremble  to  think  of.  For,  what- 
ever virtues  he  may  have  possessed,  he  was  of  a  most 
irascible  disposition,  and  could  express  his  wrath  in 
a  great  many  languages,  leaving  those  whose  philo- 
logical education  had  been  neglected  altogether  as 


238       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST, 

much  at  a  loss  as  Dr.  Johnson's  fish- wife  was  when 
he  called  her  a  preposition.  In  his  wrath,  when  he 
was  stalking  about  in  the  great  boots  which  I  have 
already  mentioned,  he  presented  a  somewhat  comical 
figure.  Poor  Fry,  who  had  not  a  grain  of  malice  in 
his  composition,  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  get  our 
count  into  a  passion,  either  by  some  disrespectful 
allusion  to  his  notions  of  the  Slavic  race,  or  by  some 
innuendoes  against  his  ideas  of  the  regeneration  of 
society.  The  exiled  Pole  was  sure  to  go  off  like  a 
gun  at  the  offence,  or  rather  like  a  great  many  guns, 
for  there  would  be  a  perfect  fusilade  of  English  which 
it  would  be  a  compliment  to  call  broken ;  and  all 
the  time  the  little  man  would  be  walking  about  in 
the  funniest  way,  gesticulating,  stamping,  and  I  sus- 
pect occasionally  swearing,  and  not  in  the  least  ap- 
peased by  the  smile  upon  the  countenance  of  his 
antagonist.  \Yhen  he  had  become  calmer,  six  words 
sufficed  to  set  him  off  again ;  and  the  fun  might  have 
been  continued  indefinitely,  if  the  worthy  philoso- 
pher had  not  fled  from  the  field,  or  if  his  tormentor 
had  not  become  tired  of  his  amusement. 

The  department  of  literary  criticism  was  then  in 
the  hands  of  Dr.  George  Eipley,  whose  recent  death 
has  been  so  much  deplored.  How  admirably,  during 
a  long  series  of  years,  he  discharged  the  duties  of  that 
difficult  and  delicate  position  it  is  quite  unnecessary 
for  me  to  say.  Those  who  have  relied  upon  his  rec- 
ommendation of  books,  and  who  remember  how  he 
never  misled  them,  as  well  as  those  who  learned 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  ASSOCIATES.  239 

something  of  modern  works  without  the  expense  of 
purchasing  or  the  trouble  of  reading  them,  will  join 
with  me  in  grateful  recollection  of  the  numberless 
reviews  of  the  first  order  which  Dr.  Ripley  published. 
Swift  to  praise  whenever  praise  was  found  possible, 
and  habitually  disinclined  to  censure  unless  it  should 
be  morally  demanded,  Dr.  Ripley  was  for  over  thirty 
years  a  literary  censor,  without  once  exhibiting 
that  irritation  or  prejudice  or  injustice  from  which 
our  critics  have  seldom  been  free.  If  he  spoke  well 
of  a  book,  it  was  safe  to  buy  it ;  if  he  could  not  speak 
well  of  it,  he  usually  was  silent  or  nearly  so.  The 
recollection  of  his  duties  thus  discharged  must  surely 
have  been  pleasanter  to  him  in  his  mellow  old  age 
than  any  celebrity  won  at  the  expense  of  kindness, 
of  benevolence,  and,  I  may  add,  of  truth.  The  days 
of  literary  butchery  have  gone  by ;  reviews  written 
merely  to  "give  pain  or  to  gratify  spleen  are  now 
hardly  tolerated;  the  quarterly  Zoilus,  like  Giftbrd 
or  Lockhart,  no  longer  tears  young  poets  in  pieces, 
or  dismisses  the  honest  labor  of  a  lifetime  with  ridi- 
cule and  contempt.  In  the  new  and  better  school 
of  criticism,  Dr.  Ripley  won  a  high  and  honorable 
position,  while  at  the  same  time  he  is  entitled  to  no 
small  share  of  the  credit  due  to  its  creation  and  es- 
tablishment. 


240       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

CONTRIBUTORS   AND   CORRESPONDENTS. 

REQUIREMENTS  OF  JOURNALISM.  —  BAYARD  TAYLOR.  —  His  BOY- 
ISH RESOLUTION  AND  EARLY  TRAVEL. — His  LETTERS  TO  THE 
TRIBUNE.  —  His  LITERARY  TASTE  AND  LATEST  WORK.  — 
ROBERT  CARTER.  —  A  MAN  OF  FACTS.  —  EDMUND  QUINCY.  — 
THE  TRIBUNE  AND  THE  DRAFT  RIOTS  OF  1863. 

I  )EEHAPS  I  overrate  the  interest  of  the  general 
JL  reader  in  my  old  associates  who  have  passed 
away,  after  distinguishing  themselves  in  the  field  of 
journalism,  or,  though  still  living,  have  left  behind 
them  its  troubles  and  its  triumphs.  Newspaper 
work  is  remorseless  in  its  requirements  and  exigent 
in  its  demands.  In  the  matter  of  permanent  rep- 
utation, it  is  scantily  rewarded.  The  same  study 
and  industry  which  are  expended  in  the  treatment 
of  topics  of  evanescent  interest  and  of  temporary 
importance,  if  employed  in  a  different  direction, 
might  result  in  the  production  of  remarkable 
books,  with  a  respectable  place  in  literary  an- 
nals. The  public,  which  is  mainly  interested,  may 
congratulate  itself  upon  the  fact  that,  as  a  rule 
not  of  course  without  its  exceptions,  the  journalist 
is  an  educated  gentleman.  This  may  surprise  the 
self-constituted  censors  of  the  press,  yet  I  do  not 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS,    241 

fear  to  say  it.  A  man  upon  the  staff  of  a  news- 
paper is  there,  as  a  clergyman  is  in  his  pulpit 
and  parish,  as  a  college  professor  is  in  his  recita- 
tion room,  as  a  doctor  is  in  the  chamber  of  sick- 
ness, as  a  lawyer  is  in  the  tribunals  of  justice. 
None  of  these  need  knowledge  and  tact  more  than 
he  does,  and,  upon  equitable  estimation,  few  of 
them  possess  more  of  either  than  himself.  It  is 
not  his  fault  if  he  is  little  known  personally  to 
the  thousands  who  read  him.  When  all  reason 
for  an  incognito  has  passed  away,  it  is  at  once  just 
and  pleasant  to  recall  his  merits  and  to  insist  upon 
them,  though  only  for  a  moment. 

Of  course,  mention  of  Mr.  Bayard  Taylor  does 
not  require  such  a  preamble  as  this.  He  is  better 
known  to  the  world  as  a  writer  of  books  than  as  a 
journalist ;  yet,  all  his  life,  he  was  a  newspaper  man. 
Thirty-eight  years  ago,  he  was  a  bright  and  hand- 
some boy,  setting  type  in  a  little  printing-office  in 
"West  Chester,  Pennsylvania.  Four  years  after  he 
was  going  through  his  "  Wanderschaft,"  seeing  Europe 
as  only  a  pedestrian  can  see  it,  with  little  money 
in  his  pocket  but  with  a  plenty  of  pluck  in  his  stout 
young  heart.  I  do  not  offer  this  as  an  example  to 
the  boys  of  America,  except  in  a  certain  sense. 
The  majority  of  those  who  hunger  and  thirst  for  a 
sight  of  distant  lands  might  just  as  well  stay  at 
home.  They  will  take  nothing  away  with  them, 
and  they  will  bring  nothing  back.  What  is  admir- 
able in  this  feat  of  young  Taylor  is  the  resolution 
16 


242       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

which  projected  and  the  persistence  which  accom- 
plished it.  Long  after,  it  was  curious  to  observe  his 
invincible  repugnance  to  be  regarded  merely  as  a 
traveller.  I  have  heard  him  protest  a  great  many 
times,  and  sometimes  with  a  modicum  of  wrath, 
against  being  so  considered,  just  as  Tom  Campbell 
was  always  indignant  when  anybody  spoke  of  him  as 
"  the  author  of  the  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  " 

Mr.  Taylor  became  largely  ambitious  in  those 
last  days,  and  the  books  of  his  boyhood  seemed 
but  small  to  him  in  comparison  with  work  which 
he  still  hoped  to  accomplish.  After  so  many 
years  spent  in  restless  wandering,  he  had  grown 
to  love  quiet  study,  the  seclusion  of  his  library, 
the  companionship  of  old  friends,  and  more  defi- 
nite literary  labor.  In  1857  I  should  have  had 
the  honor  and  pleasure  of  making  his  personal 
acquaintance  in  the  office,  if  he  had  not  chanced  at 
that  time  to  be  exploring  Sweden  and  Denmark,  and 
riding  behind  reindeer  in  Lapland.  He  saw  some- 
thing of  all  continents  and  sailed  in  every  sea,  and 
up  and  down  all  the  great  rivers,  before,  in  1875,  he 
came  back  to  the  office  to  do  regular  work,  to  write 
of  current  events,  and  to  move  once  more  in  the  old 
harness.  For  years  before  he  had  sent  to  his  news- 
paper letters  bearing  all  manner  of  foreign  post- 
marks, full  of  strange  adventure,  of  graphic  pictures 
of  men,  of  manners,  of  scenery,  which  constitued 
an  interesting  feature  of  the  journal,  and  were 
eagerly  welcomed  by  its  stay-at-home  readers.  His 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS.    243 

desk  was  next  to  mine  in  the  office,  which  made  it 
convenient  for  me  to  apply  to  him  for  general  in- 
formation, and  saved  me  the  trouble  of  walking 
across  the  room  to  consult  an  encyclopaedia.  Happy 
the  writer  who  has  such  a  well-informed  associate 
at  his  elbow  !  Mr.  Taylor  was  an  infallible  resource 
when  one  was  at  a  loss  for  the  right  word,  and  his 
taste,  especially  in  poetical  diction,  was  entirely 
trustworthy.  Shall  I  repeat  an  instance  of  its  ex- 
ercise ?  As  I  was  submitting  to  its  final  revision 
my  "  Carmen  "Seculare," — for  I  wrote  about  the  cen- 
tennial anniversary  of  the  republic  as  so  many  of 
the  verse-makers,  not  to  mention  the  real  poets,  did, 
— objection  was  made  to  the  word  "flogs"  in  the  line, 
"  From  where  the  Sun  flogs  up  his  golden  steeds." 
It  being  determined,  greatly  against  my  own  judg- 
ment, that  the  word  should  come  out,  I  wandered 
around  in  rather  a  helpless  state,  asking  everybody 
what  I  should  put  in  its  place.  Some  were  for 
"  drives,"  others  suggested  "  whips  "  ;  but  when  I 
consulted  Mr.  Taylor,  he  instantly  said  "  goads,"  and 
"  goads  "  it  stands  to-day,  —  perhaps  a  better  word 
than  "  flogs,"  because  less  hackneyed  and  colloquial. 
This  anecdote  is  related  specially  for  the  benefit  of 
those  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  write  with 
ease,  and  forget  that  easy  writing  is  usually,  as 

Sheridan  said,  "d d  hard  reading."   They  cannot 

have  a  better  exemplar  than  Mr.  Taylor.  Of  course, 
some  of  his  works  are  of  greater  importance  than 
others ;  some  of  them  have  been  forgotten,  and 


244      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

others  are  destined  to  be,  for  his  early  productions 
are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  ripened  fruit  of  his 
middle  age ;  but  always,  from  the  beginning  to  the 
end,  he  was  painstaking,  methodical,  a  neat  as  well 
as  a  dextrous  literary  laborer.  I  doubt  if  in  any 
of  his  poems  a  slovenly  line  or  an  intolerable  rhyme 
can  be  found. 

In  his  editorial  articles,  Mr.  Taylor  was  quite  at 
home  upon  almost  every  topic,  always  respectable 
in  his  performance,  sometimes  excellent ;  and  this  is 
as  much  as  can  be  said  of  any  journalist  with  whom 
I  have  been  acquainted.  For  the  rest,  Mr.  Taylor 
was  friendly,  conversational,  always  good-natured 
and  obliging.  His  life  had  been  such  that  he  could 
hardly  talk  of  things  which  he  knew  better  than 
anybody  else  present  without  talking  of  himself; 
and  it  would  be  absurd  for  me  to  make  any  com- 
plaint of  egotism  in  these  garrulous  sketches.  I 
have  never  known  a  man  who  was  worth  much  or 
had  done  anything  of  importance  who  was  not  apt 
to  overwork  the  personal  pronoun.  Our  own  ex- 
periences, thoughts,  adventures,  failures,  and  suc- 
cesses are  naturally  uppermost  in  our  heads  and 
most  frequently  upon  our  tongues ;  and  a  man  who 
has  not  become  accustomed  to  that "  infirmity  of  noble 
minds  "  must  have  had  but  a  small  circle  of  literary 
friends  indeed.  Mr.  Taylor  went  away  from  us  to 
hold  a  highly  important  diplomatic  position  abroad. 
There  was  leave-taking,  with  festivity  more  or  less 
formal;  there  was  the  hand-shaking,  with  all  the 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS.    245 

ceremonious  formalities ;  and  then  soon  after  came 
the  intelligence  that  our  friend  had  gone  upon  that 
long  journey  which  we  must  all  make,  —  the  depart- 
ure which  is  without  any  return.  We  were  well 
accustomed  in  the  office  to  that  kind  of  dreary  in- 
telligence, —  we  have  had  so  much  of  it  through  all 
these  years,  —  but  here  were  to  be  obsequies  for 
which  we  had  to  wait,  and  here  was  sudden  news 
for  which  previous  reports  had  hardly  prepared  us. 
Happy  shall  we  all  be,  after  the  places  which 
knew  us  shall  know  us  no  more,  if  men  then  speak 
of  us  as  they  spoke  of  our  Bayard,  —  the  unresting, 
undaunted  worker,  the  ready  and  versatile  man  of 
letters.  I  put  him  upon  record  as  one  of  a  craft 
which  the  world  little  understands  and  cannot  well 
do  without,  and  take  a  purer  satisfaction  in  thus 
honoring  his  memory  than  I  remember  to  have  ex- 
perienced in  writing  the  obituary  of  any  king,  soldier 
or  politician. 

I  have  spoken  of  Mr.  Taylor  as  a  man  of  what  I 
may  call  a  consumable  turn  of  mind,  but  in  this  re- 
spect he  was  surpassed  by  Mr.  Eobert  Carter,  who 
was  for  several  years  the  Boston  correspondent  of 
"The  Tribune,"  and  who  died  not  long  ago.  Among 
his  personal  friends  he  was  known  as  "the  Don," 
because  he  had  a  particular  knowledge  of  Spanish 
matters,  and  had  been  the  amanuensis  of  Mr.  Pres- 
cott,  when  that  admirable  historian  was  engaged 
upon  his  earlier  works.  Mr.  Carter  is  embalmed,  I 
believe,  in  James  Eussell  Lowell's  "Fable  for 


246       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

Critics,"  where  that  writer  speaks  of  going  "  to  the 
Don  for  the  facts."  Mr.  Carter  was  the  only  man  I 
have  met  who  knew  everything.  I  could  almost  make 
oath  that  I  never  asked  him  for  information  upon 
any  point  without  getting  it.  His  mind,  if  I  may 
say  so,  was  full  of  pigeon-holes.  He  was  a  perfect 
master  of  the  art  of  book  manufacture,  and  happy 
was  the  bookselling  business  which  secured  his 
services  as  reader  and  secretary.  He  occupied  that 
position  for  some  years  in  the  famous  house  of  Little, 
Brown  &  Co.,  in  Boston,  and  afterward  he  was  em- 
ployed in  that  capacity  by  other  like  establishments. 
But  before  that  he  had  much  experience  in  journal- 
ism; had  started  magazines  and  seen  them  fail; 
had,  in  the  course  of  his  life,  passed  through  almost 
every  imaginable  vicissitude.  It  was  a  painful  pleas- 
ure to  hear  him  tell  of  the  sorrows  of  his  boyhood, 
which  were  many,  and  some  of  them  tragic ;  but  he 
always  did  so  with  a  stoical  cheerfulness  which  his 
faith  in  the  doctrines  of  the  Church  of  the  New 
Jerusalem  —  the  Swedenborgian,  as  men  usually 
call  it  —  had  done  much  to  insure.  He  perhaps 
knew  more  than  any  other  man  of  the  antislavery 
history  of  Massachusetts,  and  particularly  of  that 
portion  of  it  relating  to  the  effects  of  the  Fugi- 
tive Slave  Law.  He  had  taken  a  large  part  in  all 
the  resistance  to  that  infamous  enactment  in  Boston, 
had  risked  his  life  and  liberty  for  the  sake  of  the 
poor  hunted  runaway ;  but  he  would  afterward  talk 
of  it  all  half  laughingly.  Those  who  were  enraged 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS.    247 

by  his  philanthropy  used  to  declare  that  he  was  a 
Jesuit ;  and  he  was  indeed  born  and  educated  a 
Roman  Catholic.  He  still  retained,  as  all  sensible 
men  must,  a  great  respect  for  the  abilities  of  the 
Jesuits,  notwithstanding  his  change  of  religion,  and 
I  do  not  think  that  the  accusation  troubled  him 
greatly.  In  fact,  he  was  about  the  serenest  and 
most  philosophical  man  whom  I  have  ever  seen,  — 
the  only  reformer  known  to  me  who  always  kept 
his  temper  and  really  hated  nobody. 

Another  Boston  correspondent  of  "  The  Tribune," 
whose  letters  were  deservedly  admired,  was  Mr. 
Edmund  Quincy,  who  wrote  over  the  signature  of 
"  Byles."  He  was  well  known  as  a  leading  aboli- 
tionist of  the  Garrisonian  school,  and  his  being  so, 
at  first  sight,  was  as  much  a  puzzle  as  the  presence 
of  the  flies  in  amber,  until  it  was  remembered  that 
he  was  a  Quincy,  with  the  bluest  of  the  old  revolu- 
tionary blood  in  his  veins.  He  was  the  son  of 
Josiah  Quincy,  once  president  of  Harvard  College 
and  mayor  of  Boston ;  he  was  the  grandson  of  that 
older  Josiah  Quincy,  of  whom,  when  he  was  in  Lon- 
don upon  a  patriotic  errand,  Lord  Hillsborough  said 
that,  if  the  Government  did  its  duty,  "  he  would  be 
in  Newgate  or  at  Tyburn."  Of  course  it  was  not 
easy  to  silence  the  descendant  of  such  a  patriot. 
Yet  Mr.  Edmund  Quincy  was  far  from  being  a  per- 
son of  the  least  violence  or  rant.  He  was  a  thorough 
gentleman,  and  therefore  he  never  blustered.  He 
loved  elegant  literary  studies,  had  no  passion  what- 


248       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


ever  for  publicity,  never  indulged  in  freaks  of  cos- 
tume nor  in  frisks  of  speech ;  and  though  his  wit 
had  some  "  of  the  ice-brook's  temper,"  he  gave  his 
opponents  their  quietus  gracefully,  and  never  man- 
gled them.  Mr.  Quincy's  letters  were  so  good,  so 
carefully  written,  and  so  full  of  characteristic  de- 
tails, that  they  would  well  repay  collection  and 
republication  in  a  volume,  not  merely  for  the 
information  which  they  contained,  at  a  time  when 
we  were  making  history  hand  over  hand,  but  as 
models  of  English  composition.  Apart  from  his  cor- 
respondence, he  wrote  little,  but  I  can  safely  recom- 
mend to  every  reader  of  taste  his  novel  of  "  Wensley," 
and  to  every  historical  student  his  "  Memoir  of  Jo- 
siah  Quincy." 

It  would  be  doing  a  good  work  if  some  competent 
person  would  write  the  history  of  the  riot  which 
raged  in  New  York  City  in  July,  1863,  —  the  draft 
riot,  as  it  is  usually  called.  The  rationale,  of  mobs 
is  about  the  last  thing  which  municipal  authorities 
seem  able  to  comprehend.  For  four  days  a  horde  of 
undisciplined  savages  bullied  the  mayor  and  the 
militia,  the  police  and  the  posse  comitatus.  They 
killed  and  burned,  they  attacked  and  demolished,  at 
their  own  barbarous  will,  making  the  conscription 
the  pretext  for  their  violence,  though  they  were 
really  infuriated  by  hatred  of  the  black  race  and  by 
their  coarse  sympathy  with  secession.  The  office  of 
"  The  Tribune  "  was  a  natural  object  of  their  hos- 
tility ;  and  if  they  did  not  destroy  it  by  fire,  it  was 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS.    249 

because  they  were  cowards  as  well  as  cruel  and 
bloodthirsty  vagabonds.  Printing  House  Square  was 
at  times  full  of  them,  and  the  building  was  like  a 
well-appointed  arsenal,  with  sentinels  at  the  doors 
and  with  muskets  and  bombs  and  cannon  in  readi- 
ness for  probable  assailants.  If  these  precautions 
had  been  taken  earlier,  the  little  damage  which  was 
done  to  the  counting-room  would  have  been  avoided ; 
for  I  never  saw  men  who  pretended  to  be  brave 
more  thoroughly  craven.  Once  when  they  were 
gathered  in  great  force  in  Printing  House  Square,  a 
shower  of  rain  sent  them  flying  in  every  direction ; 
and  undoubtedly  they  had  a  natural  dread  of  water 
as  well  as  of  soap  and  towels.  A  resolute  body  of 
policemen,  using  their  clubs  freely,  was  always  suffi- 
cient to  put  them  to  flight.  They  were  only  valiant 
in  maltreating  unarmed  negroes,  helpless  women, 
and  innocent  children;  they  were  only  strong  be- 
cause they  thought  that  they  had  behind  them  Dem- 
ocrats of  the  Seymour  stripe.  When  they  found 
that  the  Tribune  office  was  quite  ready  to  give 
them  an  energetic  reception,  they  stayed  away  from 
it.  Unfortunately,  they  were  prudent  as  well  as 
felonious.  If  they  had  made  a  second  attack  upon 
the  building,  the  mortal  career  of  a  great  many  of 
them  would  have  been  speedily  terminated,  to  the 
great  benefit  of  society. 

The  man  who  was  the  most  thoroughly  worried  by 
these  demonstrations  of  assault  and  defence  was  Mr. 
Greeley.  Not  that  he  was  in  the  least  frightened  by 


250       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

the  mob,  as  we  shall  presently  see ;  but  he  had  a 
distaste  for  whatever  disturbed  the  routine  of  the 
office,  and  a  natural  horror  of  bloodshed  which  did 
him  only  credit  and  proved  the  kindliness  of  his 
heart.  I  believe  that  I  am  right  in  saying  that  it 
was  much  against  his  will  that  the  preparatiqns  for 
repelling  the  rascals  were  made.  The  fire-arms  dis- 
pleased him,  the  bombs  and  other  munitions  were 
much  in  his  way ;  and  he  declaimed  against  all  these 
instruments  of  war  with  a  querulousness  which  was, 
in  spite  of  the  seriousness  of  the  situation,  sufficiently 
amusing.  He  had  a  notion,  not  perhaps  altogether 
ill-founded,  that  we  were  as  likely  to  shoot  our- 
selves as  the  enemy.  All  sorts  of  falsehoods  were 
told  in  the  Copperhead  newspapers  about  his  affright, 
whereas  he  was  the  most  undaunted  man  in  the 
office.  When  his  regular  hour  for  dining  came,  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  walked  to  his  accustomed  restau- 
rant through  a  hostile  crowd  which  did  not  dare  to 
lay  the  weight  of  a  finger  upon  him.  He  did  not 
go  out  of  the  building  without  earnest  remonstrance 
on  the  part  of  his  friends  and  associates.  He  was 
told  that  the  peril  was  extreme,  and  that  his  life 
would  be  in  danger;  but  he  only  answered,  half 
seriously  and  half  jestingly,  that  "  if  the  time  had 
come  when  he  could  not  go  out  to  his  dinner  safely, 
he  did  not  wish  to  live  any  longer." 

This  extraordinary  outbreak  was  not  suppressed 
without  great  destruction  of  property  and  a  loss  of 
life  probably  much  larger  than  is  usually  supposed. 


CONTRIBUTORS  AND   CORRESPONDENTS.    251 

I  have  been  told  by  a  trustworthy  person,  who  was 
at  the  time  a  member  of  the  police  force,  that  many 
were  killed  whose  deaths  were  never  reported.  The 
number  of  the  slain  is  usually  given  as  one  thou- 
sand; Mr.  Draper,  in  his  "History  of  the  Civil 
War,"  says  "perhaps  many  more."  The  property 
destroyed  has  been  valued  at  about  $2,000,000.  If 
anybody  supposes  that  "  The  Tribune  "  was  at  this 
time  inclined  to  try  the  virtue  of  a  temporizing 
policy,  he  has  only  to  consult  its  files  to  be  disa- 
abused  of  that  notion.  The  newspaper  defied  the 
mob ;  it  called  vigorously  upon  the  authorities  to 
act  firmly  and  promptly ;  it  characterized  the  pusil- 
lanimous conduct  of  Governor  Seymour  as  it  de- 
served ;  and  it  gave  the  whole  weight  of  its  sympathy 
to  the  unfortunate  persons  of  color  who  were  espe- 
cial objects  of  the  rage  of  the  rioters. 


252      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 
CHAPTEE  XIX. 

OLLA  PODRIDA. 

PROGRESS  OF  ANTISLAVERY  AGITATION.  —  A  GREAT  HISTORIC 
PERIOD.  —  NEWSPAPERS  BEFORE  THAT  TIME.  —  THE  MILLER 
EXCITEMENT.  —  GARROTING  IN  NEW  YORK  IN  1857.  —  THE 
BURDELL  MURDER.  — THINGS  WHICH  HAVE  HAD  BUNS.  —  THE 
FIRST  DRESS  REFORM.  —  CHEAP  BOOKS  AND  NEWSPAPERS. 

inlEST  things  are  always  interesting.  I  have  had 
J-  the  curiosity  to  go  to  the  files,  and  there  to 
read  the  first  leading  article  which  I  contributed  to 
"  The  Tribune."  It  was  printed  upon  the  first  day 
of  January,  1857,  —  the  first,  it  will  be  seen,  still 
predominant,  —  and,  upon  the  whole,  it  was  not 
badly  done.  It  was  a  review  of  A.  D.  1856,  —  a 
pretty  important  year,  considering  that  it  witnessed 
almost  the  culmination  of  the  antislavery  agitation, 
and  that  memorable  outrage,  the  assault  upon  Mr. 
Sumner  in  the  senate-chamber,  —  a  matter  small  to 
look  at  if  considered  altogether  by  itself,  but  large 
in  its  historical  importance  and  in  its  influence  upon 
the  public  feeling  of  the  country.  As  I  look  back 
at  it,  I  recall  that  evening  in  Boston  when  the  news 
of  it  came  to  us,  when,  taking  my  pen  in  hand  to 
write  of  it,  I  found  to  my  astonishment  that  I  could 
not  write  a  word  which  did  not  seem  tame,  and  must 
be  content  with  a  somewhat  commonplace  paragraph. 


OLLA  PODRIDA.  253 

All  the  people  of  the  United  States  should  have  felt 
it  as  if  the  coward  blows  had  rained  down  upon  each 
individual  head ;  but  we  felt  it  in  Massachusetts  as  a 
coarse  insult  to  the  State,  and  for  a  moment  we  were 
dumb  with  astonishment  and  rage.  It  was  not  Mr. 
Surnner  who  had  been  smitten,  —  it  was  an  ancient 
commonwealth,  which  for  nearly  three  hundred 
years  had  maintained  a  semi-sovereign  condition, 
which  boasted  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  of  Samuel  and 
John  Adams,  of  the  massacre  of  1770,  and  of  the 
Tea  Party  in  1773.  The  reader  will  pardon  these 
trite  historical  allusions;  he  cannot  understand 
them  unless  he  is  by  birth  a  Massachusetts  man,  as 
I  am  proud  to  be.  The  old  State  has  lost  sornetbiiig, 
indeed  a  great  deal,  of  its  grand  and  commanding 
political  position,  as  nobody  knows,  if  I  must  say  it 
with  some  mortification,  better  than  I  do ;  but  I  may 
plead,  in  extenuation  of  any  undue  complacency,  that 
Lexington  and  Concord  and  Bunker  Hill  had  not 
been  fifty  years  in  history  when  I  was  born,  and  men 
still  spoke  of  these  initial  battles  almost  as  if  the 
courage  and  the  carnage  were  of  yesterday. 

It  is  something  to  have  lived  during  a  great  his- 
toric period.  It  is  everything  for  a  journalist  to  have 
a  great  topic,  which  will  repay  constant  attention 
and  to  which  he  can  give  his  best  thought.  News- 
papers, before  the  antislavery  question  got  its  thor- 
ough hold  upon  the  popular  mind  and  heart,  were 
somewhat  superficial  and  made  up  in  rather  a  trifling 
way.  The  politics  of  the  preceding  period  were 


254       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

small.  There  was  no  profession  of  journalism.  Men 
drifted  into  the  management  of  newspapers  out  of 
other  callings.  Having  done  this,  they  trifled.  Never 
for  a  moment  did  they  think  of  leading.  They  joked 
and  bantered  and  sneered ;  they  used  the  scissors  and 
paste-brush  much  more  than  the  pen ;  there  was  no 
method,  no  system,  no  management,  no  earnest  pur- 
pose, —  nothing  but  personal  scolding  and  partisan 
wrath.  The  antislavery  discussion,  if  I  may  give  my 
opinion,  made  the  American  press  of  the  higher  class 
what  it  is.  It  enlarged  views  and  it  diversified 
methods.  The  telegraph  and  the  railway  and  the 
steamboat  did  the  rest. 

In  the  earlier,  simpler  times  a  poor  squib  in  the 
newspaper  went  a  long  way;  a  lean  poem  in  the 
Poet's  Corner  cut  a  considerable  figure ;  and  as  for 
the  jests,  they  were  much  too  old  to  be  fathered 
upon  that  putative  parent  of  many  dubious  children, 
Joe  Miller.  A  good  bit  of  news  lasted  a  long  time. 
An  earthquake  was  a  godsend.  The  comet  of  1843 
was,  if  I  may  say  so,  paragraphed  and  articled  to 
death.  I  mention  it  particularly  because  Mr.  Buckle 
would  have  connected  it,  after  his  philosophical 
method,  with  the  Miller  excitement,  which  then  stood 
at  about  eighty  degrees  above  zero  according  to  the 
spiritual  thermometer.  The  hens  had  laid  eggs  mys- 
teriously marked  "  1843  "  ;  long-bearded  and  long- 
haired preachers  had  howled  destruction  from  a 
hundred  pulpits;  itinerant  lecturers  had  demonstrated 
the  Second  Advent  with  hideous  diagrams  behind 


OLLA  PODRIDA.  255 

them  whereon  were  depicted  the  four  great  beasts 
seen  by  Daniel  in  his  dream,  —  the  lion  with  eagle's 
wings ;  the  bear  with  three  ribs  in  his  mouth ;  the 
four-winged  leopard  ;  and  the  fourth  creature  with  the 
great  iron  tee.th.  If  Daniel  was  agitated  by  these 
zoological  monsters  B.  C.  555,  a  great  many  men, 
women,  and  children  were  frightened  almost  mor- 
tally by  the  counterfeit  presentment  of  them  A.  D. 
1843,  especially  when  somebody,  in  very  bad  gram- 
mar and  with  many  violent  gesticulations,  deduced 
from  them  the  end  of  all  terrestrial  things.  What, 
then,  must  have  been  the  consternation  when  a  blaz- 
ing comet  came  as  if  to  confirm  indisputably  the 
ferocious  predictions  of  Captain  William  Miller ! 
The  most  sceptical  began  to  feel  uncomfortable.  I 
am  not  ashamed  to  say  that  I  did,  for  one.  If  I 
had  not  been  very  busy  at  the  time  reporting  the 
misdeeds  of  the  Democratic  party  in  the  Massachu- 
setts Legislature  and  belaboring  bad  law-making 
which  promised  anything  but  the  millennium,!  might 
have  become  a  convert  and  bought  myself  an  ascen- 
sion robe.  In  this,  no  doubt,  had  there  been  occa- 
sion, I  should  have  gone  up  singing  as  sweetly  and 
demeaning  myself  as  gracefully  as  the  rest.  But 
there  was  no  occasion.  We  had  the  wonderful  hens 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  nonsense  for  some  time  in 
the  newspapers ;  then  something  else  came,  I  do 
not  remember  what,  to  displace  Captain  Miller  and 
his  sham  millennium ;  and  fifty  thousand  believers 
were  egregiously  chagrined. 


256       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

There  is  always,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  a 
run  on  something  in  the  public  journals;  I  have 
made  mention  of  one,  ridiculous  enough  to  look 
back  upon  :  but  everything  in  the  shape  of  a  public 
scare  seems  absurd  when  we  get  far  enough  away 
from  it.  The  fright  in  New  York  during  that  cold 
January  of  1857  was  occasioned  by  garroting.  El- 
derly gentlemen,  walking  out  for  a  constitutional 
after  dinner,  were  first  strangled  and  afterward  de- 
spoiled of  their  valuables.  Peace  men,  even  the 
mildest  of  non-resistants,  bought  revolvers.  Upon 
comparing  pockets  one  evening  in  the  office,  it  came 
out  that  we  were  all  armed  and  equipped  as  the  law 
of  fear  directed,  and  had  no  notion,  after  murdering 
the  King's  English  all  night  at  our  desks,  of  being 
ourselves  unresistingly  murdered  on  our  way  to  our 
welcome  beds.  The  excellent  Count  Gurowski,  I 
remember,  had  a  large  fire-arm,  which  he  flourished 
at  destiny  in  a  particularly  defiant  way.  It  was 
curious  to  observe  that  this  was  an  imported  panic. 
We  got  the  notion  of  our  danger  from  London,  where 
the  honest  citizens  were  agitated  by  similar  appre- 
hensions, perhaps  with  more  reason.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  there  was  any  more  risk  in  walking  home 
late  at  night  than  there  is  now.  It  was  one  of  our 
whimseys.  However,  I  wrote  several  yards  of  edi- 
torials upon  the  subject,  and,  upon  the  whole,  made 
a  good  thing  out  of  it ;  so  that  I  was  much  better 
worth  choking  and  plundering  on  the  evening  of 
pay-day  than  I  could  possibly  have  been  forty-eight 
hours  before  or  afterward. 


DLL  A   PODRIDA.  257 

We  want  some  De  Quincey  to  dilate  philosophi- 
cally upon  our  memorable  murders.  We  have  had 
so  many  homicides  since,  that  possibly  some  of  my 
readers  may  have  forgotten  that  Dr.  Burdell,  a  den- 
tist well  known  in  his  profession,  was  assassinated 
in  his  rooms  between  Friday  night  and  Saturday 
morning,  January  30  and  31,  1857,  and  that  Mrs. 
Cunningham,  who  kept  the  lodging-house,  and  two 
lodgers  in  it,  Eckell  and  Snodgrass,  were  suspected 
of  this  crime  and  were  rtried  for  it.  The  house  was 
No.  31  Bond  Street,  —  I  forget  whether  there  is  a 
hair-restorer,  a  milliner,  a  bookseller,  or  a  wooden- 
leg  maker  there  now.  The  doctor  parted  with  a 
friend  in  Broadway ;  went  home  undoubtedly ;  and 
that  was  the  last  which  was  seen  of  him  alive,  ex- 
cept by  the  operator  who  gave  him  his  quietus.  As 
the  shocking  event  made  necessary  a  great  number 
of  editorial  articles,  the  manager  sent  me  up  to  look 
at  the  premises,  and  to  watch  the  coroner,  whose 
name  was  Connery,  and  who  was  himself  almost 
murdered,  metaphorically  speaking,  by  the  press, 
before  he  had  finished  his  investigations.  He  was 
particularly  abused  for  his  suspicions  of  the  guilt  of 
Mrs.  Cunningham  and  other  inmates  of  the  house, 
and  it  must  be  allowed  that  he  did  not  conduct  the 
investigation  after  a  Chesterfieldian  fashion.  When 
I  was  admitted  by  the  policeman  on  guard  at  the 
door,  I  went  into  the  great,  cold,  vulgar-looking  par- 
lors, with  those  cheap  and  dreadful  pictures  upon 
the  walls  which  are  displayed  in  all  such  asylums 
17 


258       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

for  the  homeless.  Mr.  Connery  was  cross-examining 
the  Hon.  Daniel  Ullman,  then  a  Know-Nothing  pol- 
itician of  some  little  importance,  who  was  a  lodger 
also  at  No.  31.  Dr.  Burdell  was  dead  on  the  second 
floor;  and  Mrs.  Cunningham  and  the  Misses  Cun- 
ningham, like  the  widow  in  "  The  New  Way  to  Pay 
Old  Debts,"  were  "cloistered  up"  in  some  remote 
part  of  the  edifice.  It  was  a  house,  as  I  remember 
it,  in  which  murder  would  naturally  be  committed  ; 
it  was  cold  and  comfortless,  the  furniture  was 
all  horsehair  and  ponderous  mahogany ;  and  I  fan- 
cied the  doctor's  room  as  dreadful  without  reference 
to  its  battery  of  surgical  instruments  or  his  own  in- 
animate presence  there  at  the  moment.  There  was 
a  pervading  dampness  and  stickiness,  as  you  went 
in,  like  that  in  Mr.  Crook's  residence  after  his  com- 
bustion. Official  boots  had  muddied  the  carpets, 
official  cigars  had  demoralized  the  atmosphere, 
official  documents  in  official  side-pockets  had  re- 
duced the  sacred  sense  of  a  home  to  the  unfragrant 
publicity  of  a  police-court  lobby.  I  do  not  think 
that  even  before  the  sudden  demise  of  the  doctor, 
which  made  Bond  Street  a  particularly  nice  place  to 
remove  from,  the  Cunningham  mansion  could  have 
been  a  cheerful  place  of  residence,  whether  morally 
or  materially  considered.  The  matronly  Mrs.  Cun- 
ningham had  not  an  assuring  record ;  and  when  poor 
Dr.  Burdell  let  his  house  to  her,  —  for  he  owned  it, — 
retaining  the  second  floor,  he  got  into  one  scrape 
which  was  speedily  followed  by  others.  Who  killed 


DLL  A  POD  RID  A,  259 

him  ?  How  should  I  know  ?  We  discussed  the 
question  for  months  afterward ;  everybody  who  was 
indicted  for  the  murder  was  acquitted.  They  buried 
the  doctor  with  his  body  so  full  of  wounds  that  ex- 
perts (abstract,  of  course)  said  that  they  must  have 
been  multiplied  by  feminine  vehemence ;  the  Lucre- 
zia  of  the  tragedy  disappeared  from  New  York ;  has 
been  reported  dead  and  sunk  in  the  ocean ;  has  been 
also  reported  living  in  California.  The  whole  affair 
went  into  history  before  the  summer  of  1857  had 
dried  the  mud  in  front  of  the  house ;  and  when  I 
passed  it  the  other  day,  in  my  walk  down  town,  it 
looked  so  quiet  and  respectable  that  I  could  hardly 
be  sure  that  it  was  the  same  residence  which  for 
seven  days  the  gaping  crowd  stared  at  from  the 
other  side  of  the  street.  That  old  saw  that  "  murder 
will  out "  is  all  well  enough  in  novels  and  dramas  of 
the  Bowery  school ;  but  every  journalist  knows  that 
there  are  a  great  many  murders,  the  explanation  of 
which  is  calmly  awaiting  the  great  Oyer  and  Termi- 
ner  of  the  Day  of  Judgment.  The  last  which  I  re- 
member of  the  event,  which  for  a  time  monopolized 
our  New  York  talk  is,  that  going  upon  business  soon 
after  through  the  Tombs,  my  polite  and  much-but- 
toned conductor  showed  me  the  cell  occupied  during 
her  imprisonment  by  la  belle  dame  sans  merci.  It 
still  looked  as  neat  and  orderly  as  if  feminine  hands 
had  arranged  its  scanty  furniture,  and  a  clean  white 
coverlet  upon  the  bed  was  suggestive  of  innocence. 
I  became  straightway  full  of  pity,  —  the  old  syinpa- 


260       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

thy  which  I  have  never  been  able  to  get  rid  of  for 
a  woman  in  trouble ;  and  I  did  not  feel  quite  re- 
lieved in  my  mind  until  I  had  gone  down  stairs  and 
interviewed  three  undoubted  murderers,  all  of  whom 
declared  to  me  their  perfect  innocence,  and  two  of 
whom,  a  few  mornings  after,  came  out  of  their  cells, 
and,  never  going  back  again,  became  in  a  few  hours 
the  unconscious  heroes  of  the  evening  newspapers. 

Pleasanter  than  a  Newgate  Calendar  adapted  to 
the  meridian  of  New  York,  which  my  last  recollec- 
tion suggests,  would  be  a  History  of  Things  Which 
Have  Had  Runs,  —  of  reforms  which  never  got 
much  further  than  projection ;  of  schemes  intended 
to  make  everybody  healthy  and  happy,  which  some- 
how or  other  fell  short  of  their  benevolent  purpose. 
What  Isms  have  I  seen  spring  up  and  sprout,  and 
flourish  and  fade  away !  That  harmless  termina- 
tion "  ism,"  has  surely  been  much  overworked.  It 
fits  handily  enough  to  a  surname,  only  the  surname 
itself  has  such  a  trick  of  giving  up  the  ghost.  The 
blossoms  of  the  Tree  of  Knowledge  have  such  a  way 
of  falling  off,  and  disappointing  us  of  the  fruit. 
There  was  the  Dress  Reform,  for  instance,  which 
was  started  by  a  lady  bearing  the  efflorescent  name 
of  Bloomer,  Inde  "  Bloomerism,"  as  perhaps  the 
man  of  middle  age  may  remember.  Somewhere 
about  1854  it  was,  I  think,  that  there  came  a  loud- 
voiced  protest  against  long  skirts  from  the  strong- 
minded  woman  of  the  West  above  mentioned.  She 
was  a  moral  person,  I  believe,  and  therefore  she 


OLLA   PODRIDA.  261 

could  not  have  got  her  notion  of  costume  from  the 
variety  theatres ;  possibly  she  got  it  from  the  parti- 
colored posters;  but,  poor  dear  lady,  she  wanted 
to  make  all  American  girls,  and  mothers  too,  I 
suppose,  dress  exactly  like  the  Circassian  Beauty  — 
Miss  Snevellicci  or  Miss  Mortimer  —  in  the  six- 
cent  show.  Those  who  submitted  to  this  apparel 
were  called  "  Bloomers " ;  and,  as  there  were  not 
many  of  them,  it  was  a  great  amusement  for  the 
young  boys  to  run  after  them  in  the  streets,  and  for 
the  old  boys  to  peep  slyly  around  the  corner  at 
them.  I  was  one  of  the  middle-aged,  and,  of  course, 
took  no  notice  whatever  of  these  Zuleikas,  as  they 
promenaded  under  their  lovely  umbrellas.  The 
newspapers  were  full  of  humorous  allusions  to  these 
fanciful  dressers  —  I  dare  say  that  I  myself  wrote 
dozens  of  squibs  about  them,  bad  and  indifferent. 
If  my  memory  serves  me,  there  was  a  waist  of  one 
bright  color,  and  a  skirt  coming  to  the  knees  of  an- 
other bright  color,  or  perhaps  variegated,  and  then 
trousers  of  the  Turkish  variety,  buttoned  at  the 
ankle.  This  was  the  protest  of  1853  against  long 
skirts  !  If  I  were  Professor  Teufelsdroeckh,  what  a 
quantity  of  excellent  moral  philosophy  might  I  here 
inflict  upon  my  readers  apropos  of  the  freaks  of 
fashion  !  But  the  truth  is,  the  Bloomer  abbrevia- 
tion never  was  in  fashion,  although  its  well-inten- 
tioned deviser  made  it  almost  a  matter  of  religion. 
Since  that  time  the  world  has  witnessed  many 
bolder  innovations ;  but  the  intuitive  good  taste  and 


262       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

common  sense  of  the  American  woman  have  pre- 
vailed over  the  passion  for  outre,  novelties;  and  I 
hope  that  it  will  continue  to  do  so,  in  spite  of  the 
howls  of  amateur  physiologists,  and  the  ingenuity 
of  those  who  always  contrive  to  be  in  a  lean 
minority. 

There  are  fashions  in  popular  literature  as  well 
as  in  dress.  Just  about  forty  years  ago  there  began 
to  be  a  demand  for  cheap  books  and  for  newspapers 
which,  considering  their  size  and  the  enormous 
amount  of  reading  matter  which  they  contained, 
were  sold  at  a  small  price.  Perhaps  it  was  about 
this  time  that  the  phrase  "yellow-covered  litera- 
ture" came  into  vogue,  perhaps  it  was  a  little 
later.  The  type  used  in  printing  these  books  was 
necessarily  small,  and  frequently  it  was  old  and 
battered,  while  the  press-work  was  not  of  the  best ; 
and  these  faults,  with  the  character  of  many  of  the 
works  thus  issued,  drew  from  Edward  Everett,  when 
he  was  president  of  Harvard  College,  a  bitter  pro- 
test against  publications  which  began  by  corrupting 
the  reader's  morals  and  ended  by  ruining  his  eyes. 
Now,  cheap  books  are  not,  as  a  rule,  ill-printed ;  and 
the  newspaper  sheet  has  been  enlarged  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  weekly  publications  of  1840  do  not 
seem  so  gigantic  as  they  were  then  thought  to  be. 
Even  then  some  of  the  books  sold  at  small  prices 
were  quite  handsomely  printed.  I  have  before  me 
a  copy  of  Sir  Francis  Head's  "  Bubbles  from  the 
Brunnens  of  Nassau,"  —  a  delightful  work,  by  the 


OLLA   PODRIDA.  263 

way,  —  which  was  issued  by  Mr.  George  Dearborn, 
in  Gold  Street,  and  sold  very  low,  which  is  really 
a  pretty  pamphlet.  There  were  two  of  the  large 
weekly  newspapers  published  in  New  York  —  "  The 
World"  and  "Brother  Jonathan"  —  and  both  of  them 
were  well  edited  and  well  printed.  They  gave 
seriatim,  but  in  large  instalments,  the  novels  of 
Mr.  Dickens,  of  Mrs.  Trollope,  of  Mrs.  Gore,  and  of 
other  writers  of  fiction ;  and  their  general  literary 
make-up  was  excellent.  Only  a  few  newspapers  of 
this  class  of  the  present  day  now  excel  them ;  and  I 
have  no  doubt  they  furnished  Sunday  reading  of  a 
wholesome  kind  to  considerable  numbers.  There 
must  have  been  either  bad  management  or  some 
fatal  discrepancy  between  the  cost  of  manufacture 
and  the  price  obtained ;  for  these  big  sheets,  with  a 
similar  one  printed  by  George  Roberts  in  Boston, 
disappeared.  I  ought  to  say  that  these  giants,  as 
we  thought  them  to  be,  would  not  now  be  consid- 
ered so  gigantic ;  they  were  folios  of  the  blanket 
sort,  and  not  easy  to  handle.  In  our  days  of  many- 
paged  newspapers,  they  would  hardly  be  bought  at 
all.  In  the  business  of  reprinting  cheap  foreign 
works  the  competition  was  great,  and  sometimes 
ruinous.  There  was,  I  remember,  a  large  demand 
for  translations  from  the  French.  There  were  two 
or  three  different  reprints  in  English  of  Eugene 
Sue's  lurid  novel, "  The  Mysteries  of  Paris,"  and  the 
publishers  squabbled  about  the  respective  merits  of 
their  issues  as  if  they  had  been  patent  medicines. 


264       REMINISCENCES  OF  A    JOURNALIST. 

The  business  was  overdone ;  and  when  it  came  to 
cheap  translations  of  the  novels  of  Paul  de  Kock, 
the  moralists  began  to  open  their  eyes.  It  was  a 
day  of  paper  covers ;  and  now  another  like  it  ap- 
pears to  have  arrived.  Yet  it  is  only  just  to  admit 
that  cheap  books  are  much  better  printed  than  they 
once  were,  and  that  in  the  department  of  prose 
fiction  there  has  been  a  great  improvement  upon 
the  side  of  decency.  We  still  find  occasionally  a 
noisome  novel  attaining  at  least  notoriety;  but 
"  cheap  and  nasty "  is  no  longer  so  nearly  the  rule 
as  it  once  was. 


A  LAST  «  TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      265 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

A  LAST  "TEIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION. 

THE  PRIVATE  HISTORY  OF  A  NEWSPAPER.  —  METHODS  AND 
MISTAKES.  —  DOMESTIC  CRITICS.  —  "  TOM  "  HOOKER.  — 
GOOD  COPY  AND  BAD.  —  BIDDING  THE  OLD  OFFICE  FARE- 
WELL. —  THE  YOUNG  POETS.  —  MR.  E.  C.  STEDMAN.  —  THE 
DIAMOND  WEDDING.  —  NEWSPAPER  CORRESPONDENCE,  PAST 
AND  PRESENT. 


OULD  there  be  anything  more  interesting  than 
the  history  of  a  leading  newspaper  intelligently 
and  cleverly  written  ?  Apart  from  other  considera- 
tions, it  would,  in  fact,  be  the  history  of  notable 
political  chances  and  changes  ;  of  parties  rising  to 
meet  the  exigencies  of  the  time,  surviving  while 
they  were  needed,  and  dying  when  they  were  needed 
no  longer.  But  this  relation  of  newspapers  is  not 
what  is  mainly  in  my  mind  as  I  begin  this  chapter. 
I  am  thinking  of  the  private  experiences,  the  in- 
terior vicissitudes,  the  memories  and  mortalities, 
and  that  tradition  of  triumphs  and  of  failures  of 
which  the  public  know  so  little,  and  of  which  an 
old  journalist  knows  so  much.  If  I  may  venture 
to  say  so,  the  office  of  a  newspaper  is  a  republic 
tempered  by  despotism.  The  men  who  make  jour- 
nals are  obliged  to  think  for  themselves,  but  this 
intellectual  independence  must  be  kept  within  cer- 


266       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

tain  limits.  Still,  an  editorial  writer  who  has  any 
brains  soon  finds  out  what  he  may  say  and  what 
he  may  not  say,  and  how  far  he  may  put  his  private 
opinions  into  his  articles.  When  I  asked  for  some 
convenient  rule  to  guide  me  in  writing  for  "  The 
Tribune,"  Mr.  Greeley  told  me  that  there  could  be 
none ;  "  but  you  will  be  safe,"  he  said,  "  while  you 
keep  within  the  general  tone  of  the  newspaper ;  and 
if  you  •  write  what  we  don't  want,  you  may  be  per- 
fectly sure  that  we  shall  not  print  it."  Yet  it  is 
always  a  delicate  business.  What  seemed  excellent 
in  the  evening  did  not  seem  so  fine  in  the  morning. 
Newspaper  writers  make  sad  mistakes,  well  cal- 
culated to  fill  the  bosom  of  the  editor-in-chief  with 
despair.  Things  get  into  the  columns  which  ought 
to  have  been  kept  out  of  them.  Constant  vigilance 
is  the  price  of  safety,  even  of  the  comparative  sort.  An 
ill-considered  article  may  bother  a  newspaper,  and  be 
a  perpetual  source  of  irritation  for  a  year  to  come. 

Take,  for  instance,  that  wonderful  article  on 
"  Miscegenation,"  which  I  wrote  for  "  The  Tribune," 
in  which,  half  sportively  and  half  seriously,  I  de- 
monstrated that  the  intermarriage  of  blacks  and 
whites  was  just  what  this  great  and  glorious  repub- 
lic needed.  The  trouble  was  that  the  irony  was  so 
finely  spun  that  nobody  could  see  it,  and  everybody 
thought  that  the  writer  was  in  absolute  earnest. 
Those  were  times  in  which  we  had  to  be  careful 
what  we  said ;  and  Mr.  Greeley,  who  saw  endless  con- 
troversy ahead,  was  angry  enough  at  the  appearance 


A   LAST  "  TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      267 

of  the  article.  He  did  not  scold  me,  —  I  am  proud 
to  say  that  he  never  did  that,  —  but  I  have  reason 
to  believe  that  he  scolded  the  manager,  who  then 
expressed  his  mind  to  me,  which  answered  just  as 
well.  It  was  like  that  scene  in  Sheridan's  "  Rivals," 
in  which  the  master  kicks  the  footman,  and  the 
footman  kicks  the  page. 

Of  the  toil  which  a  newspaper  demands,  of  the 
unceasing  attention  which  it  exacts,  of  the  judicious 
care  which  it  requires,  the  great  public  of  readers 
takes  no  account.  Those  who  come  to  the  breakfast- 
table,  more  or  less  bilious,  expect  to  find  in  their 
morning  sheet  something  like  perfection,  and  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  they  are  not  right  in  expecting 
it.  But  when  they  glance  hastily  over  the  columns, 
and  then  judicially  declare  that  there  is  nothing  in 
them,  they  may  often  forget  that  there  is  everything 
in  them  of  importance  which  has  happened  in  the 
whole  world  during  the  last  twenty-four  hours  ; 
that  fifty,  seventy-five,  one  hundred,  may  be  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  men  toiled  all  night  while  these 
captious  critics  were  sleeping,  their  heads,  as  Carlyle 
says,  "  full  of  the  foolishest  dreams,"  —  worked  to 
make  up  this  great  compendium,  this  map,  the 
picture  of  a  day,  "  its  fluctuations  and  its  vast  con- 
cerns." It  might  lead  the  dissatisfied  purchaser  to 
revise  his  judgment  if  he  could  stand,  between  one 
and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  the  composing- 
room  of  a  great  journal,  and  witness  the  intense 
excitement,  all  kept  well  under  in  well-regulated 


268       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

offices,  which  characterizes  the  "make-up"  of  the 
sheet  which  he  sometimes  dismisses  so  contempt- 
uously. The  night  editor,  if  then  in  a  state  to 
speak  to  anybody  rationally,  might  tell  him  that 
the  great  point  was  not  so  much  what  should  go  in 
as  what  should  be  left  out.  For  there  never  was  a 
morning  paper  yet  which  was  big  enough  for  all  the 
matter  prepared  for  it;  and  there  never  can  be. 
The  larger  the  sheet  the  more  news  will  come  to  it, 
—  for  every  additional  column,  three  columns  of 
intelligence,  or  of  matter  of  some  sort,  will  demand 
admission.  Again,  the  rule  is  that  there  shall  be 
no  mistakes.  It  is  inexorable,  yet  thrice  happy  is 
the  journal  in  the  office  of  which  it  is  never  violated. 
There  are  more  mistakes  than  the  sagacious  public 
ever  finds  out.  Nowhere  is  a  newspaper  so  criticised 
as  among  those  who  create  it. 

The  other  day  Mr.  Thomas  N.  Hooker,  who  was 
long  foreman  of  "  The  Tribune,"  and  who  still  serves 
it  in  another  capacity,  told  me  that  he  had  been  con- 
nected with  it  ever  since  the  first  day  of  its  publica- 
tion. In  fact,  I  hope  that  he  will  not  mind  my 
mentioning  that  he  who  laid  the  first  type  in  the 
cases  has  grown  white  in  the  service,  and  has  no 
end  of  reminiscences  of  his  own  under  his  "  frosty 
pow."  How  many  "  forms  "  he  has  "  made  up  "  it 
would  be  a  great  arithmetical  job  to  compute,  as 
well  as  how  many  miles  of  copy  he  has  dissected, 
pasted,  and  distributed.  He  has  stored  away  more 
anecdotes  of  Mr.  Greeley  than  any  man  living.  One 


A   LAST  "TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      269 

of  the  strangest  things  is  that  there  should  be  so 
many  printers,  no  longer  on  the  newspaper,  who 
know  me,  and  whose  names  and  faces  have  entirely 
passed  out  of  my  memory.  I  meet  them  on  the  cars 
and  in  the  street,  and  they  come  up  to  me,  and  put 
out  their  hands  and  hope  that  I  am  well,  and  begin 
to  talk  of  the  old  times  in  a  genial  way  which  quite 
upsets  me.  They  remember  all  about  the  character 
of  the  copy,  —  the  astonishing  and,  to  eyes  unfam- 
iliar with  it,  altogether  illegible  chirography  of  Mr. 
Greeley;  the  almost  equally  difficult  handwriting 
of  Mr.  Hildreth;  the  beautiful  manuscript  which 
they  got  from  this  member  of  the  staff  or  the  other. 
These  men  were  interested  critics  of  penmanship  : 
their  bread  and  butter,  the  money  they  were  to 
receive  at  the  end  of  the  week,  depended  a  good  deal 
upon  its  excellence.  This  is  a  consideration  which 
I  am  afraid  does  not  often  enough  occur  to  literary 
people,  who  seem  to  fancy  that  a  compositor  can 
read  anything.  According  to  tradition,  the  very  worst 
manuscript  ever  sent  into  a  printing-house  was  that 
of  Sharon  Turner's  "  Sacred  History  of  the  World." 
Either  from  motives  of  economy  or  from  sheer  whim, 
he  wrote  upon  anything  that  came  to  hand, —  wrap- 
ping-paper in  which  his  mutton-chops  had  been 
sent  home,  old  letter-backs,  marginal  bits  cut  from 
the  newspapers,  the  fly -leaves  torn  from  odd  volumes. 
Having  covered  them  with  hieroglyphics  which 
were  hardly  human,  and  pasted  the  fragments  to- 
gether as  best  he  could,  he  gave  the  mysterious 


270       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

mess  (if  I  may  call  it  so)  to  the  printer.  Composi- 
tor after  compositor  profanely  rebelled  against  the 
"Sacred  History,"  and  fled  half  crazy  from  the 
office.  It  is  a  wonder  that  the  work,  which  is  one 
of  great  merit,  ever  got  into  type  at  all.  I  give 
this  anecdote  in  the  interest  of  my  old  friends,  the 
printers;  and  I  implore  all  who  have  occasion  to 
oifer  any  manuscript  to  a  newspaper  not  to  take 
money  out  of  the  pockets  of  honest  artisans  by 
indulging  in  a  slovenly  and,  I  may  say,  felonious 
handwriting. 

There  are  scores  of  associates  whom  one  remem- 
bers kindly.  When  the  old  office  was  in  process  of 
demolition,  and  we  were  removing  from  the  editorial 
rooms  into  temporary  quarters,  I  sat  down  amidst 
all  the  dust  and  rubbish  and  litter,  and  prepared 
perhaps  the  last  article,  certainly  almost  the  last, 
which  was  written  in  that  ancient  chamber.  I  spoke 
of  the  dead  as  I  hope  that  they  would  have  spoken 
of  me,  if  they  had  been  there  and  I  had  been  where 
they  were.  I  took  a  last  peep  into  the  little  snug- 
gery in  which  Mr.  Greeley  had  done  so  much  impor- 
tant work,  and  I  said  to  myself,  "  The  place  which 
knew  him  shall  know  him  no  more  forever."  But 
of  most  of  "  the  old  companions  trusty,"  only  the 
ghosts  were  there  to  share  my  last  adieu.  I  thought 
of  the  day  when  I  climbed  the  steep  stairs  for  the 
first  time ;  of  how  much  I  had  hoped  to  do,  of  how 
little  I  had  done;  of  the  numberless  talks  which 
I  had  enjoyed  in  the  shabby  room;  and  I  might 


A   LAST  "TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      271 

have  lapsed  into  maudlin  depths  of  dubious  senti- 
mentality if  it  had  not  been  quite  time  to  go  to  my 
dinner.  I  gave  a  moment  of  recollection  to  the  un- 
celebrated who  had  drifted  into  the  office  and  drifted 
out  of  it,  and  passed  away  and  been  forgotten.  I 
recalled  fleeting  celebrities  and  short-lived  reputa- 
tions ;  men  who  had  made  a  first  hit,  and  never 
made  another ;  those  who  had  tried  hard,  and  never 
made  a  hit  at  all.  Oh,  this  great,  absorbing,  cavern- 
ous, hissing,  roaring,  foaming  whirlpool  of  journalism! 
How  it  sucks  in  talent,  genius,  learning,  brains, 
hopes,  ambitions,  aspirations !  Of  the  hundreds 
who  are  called,  how  few  are  chosen  !  "What  infinite 
variety  of  ability  it  demands  !  What  tact,  knack, 
care,  and  industry !  We  must  speak  well  of  each 
other,  old  friends,  for  nobody  else  will  have  much 
to  say  of  us.  We  are  to  the  Temple  of  Fame  as 
curb-stone  brokers  are  to  the  legitimate  Exchange. 
We  must  content  ourselves  with  making  all  the 
noise  possible  while  we  are  living,  for  very  little 
noise  shall  we  make  after  we  have  finally  departed. 
The  reader  who  cannot  share  my  personal  sympa- 
thies will  surely  pardon  some  allusion  to  one  of 
whom  he  may  never  before  have  heard.  Something 
I  ought  to  say  specially  of  my  old  friend,  John  Fitch 
Cleveland,  whom  we  buried  on  a  bright  November 
day  in  1876.  I  have  an  immense  respect  for  a  man 
of  figures,  although  I  could  never  myself  handle 
them  with  the  least  dexterity ;  and  my  friend  was 
particularly  an  adept  in  the  manipulation  of  those 


272       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

most  exasperating  and  incomprehensible  columns,  — 
the  election  returns.  I  may  as  well  confess  that  I 
have  never  been  much  excited  by  them  through  all 
these  years.  Whatever  the  issue  of  the  conflict,  I 
understood  that  there  was  no  prize  for  me;  and 
however  adverse  to  the  principles  of  truth  and  jus- 
tice and  political  sense  and  political  morality,  the 
success  of  one  party  and  the  defeat  of  another  might 
prove,  I  knew  that  the  right  was  sure  to  have  fair 
play  in  the  long  run  in  this  republic.  In  our  office 
somebody  was  always  figuring  and  adding  and  sub- 
tracting ;  noting  a  gain  in  this  county  and  a  loss  in 
that  congressional  district ;  balancing  the  propriety 
of  this  measure  and  the  expediency  of  that  nomina- 
tion. It  was  necessary,  I  suppose,  and  I  do  not 
mean  to  complain  of  it,  even  if  it  was  unnecessary ; 
but  I  took  more  interest  in  some  wretchedly  small 
minority  which  represented  a  principle  than  in  the 
announcement  of  triumphant  majorities  which  meant 
only  the  aggrandizement  of  politicians.  I  kept  hard 
to  my  work,  with  a  single  eye  to  the  future,  and  let 
the  election  returns  go.  It  was  different  with  poor 
Cleveland:  it  was  his  business  to  take  care  of 
them.  His  name  appears  as  compiler  upon  the  title- 
page  of  several  numbers  of  that  useful  annual,  "  The 
Tribune  Almanac."  He  held  for  a  time  the  respon- 
sible position  of  financial  editor,  and  wrote  long 
articles,  which  to  me  were  equally  mysterious  with 
the  election  returns.  Yet  I  have  no  doubt  of  the 
ability,  and  none  whatever  of  the  honesty  of  his  re- 


A  LAST  "TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      273 

ports  from  Wall  Street ;  and  I  am  sure  in  that  region 
of  bulls  and  bears  that  he  is  pleasantly  and  respect- 
fully remembered.  There  is  no  association  of  lucre, 
of  financial  phenomena,  of  panics  and  Black  Fridays 
to  mar  my  own  recollection  of  his  sweet  nature,  of 
his  amiable  manners,  and  always  obliging  disposi- 
tion. He  was  one  of  the  most  competent  journalists 
of  all  work  whom  I  have  ever  known.  He  could  do 
anything  tolerably,  and  a  great  many  things  admira- 
bly. He  bore  up  bravely  against  the  disease  which 
was  killing  him ;  but  we  saw  him  less  and  -less  fre- 
quently at  the  office,  and  finally  came  the  intelli- 
gence that  we  should  never  see  him  th'ere  again.  I 
mention  Mr.  Cleveland,  partly  because  I  was  sin- 
cerely attached  to  him,  and  partly  because  his  story 
affords  an  excellent  illustration  of  what  I  have  just 
said  of  the  fleeting  character  of  the  journalist's  fame. 
I  take  a  peculiar  pleasure  and  an  honest  pride  in  • 
thus  mentioning  to  old  and  faithful  readers  the 
names  of  some  of  those  to  whose  ability  and  labor 
they  have  been  indebted  for  pleasure  and  for  in- 
formation. I  never  cared  much  for  notoriety,  and 
have  been  content  to  follow  my  profession  in  an  ob- 
scurity which  it  might  seem  vain  to  characterize  as 
comparative ;  yet  I  like  to  have  my  old  associates 
remembered,  and  have  found  a  satisfaction  in  speak- 
ing of  more  than  one  of  them  in  these  pages. 

It  is  a  particularly  honorable  feature  of  the  history 
of  "  The  Tribune "  that  it  has  always  extended  a 
hospitable  reception  to  young  writers  who  had  their 
18 


274      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

laurels  yet  to  win.  Mr.  Greeley's  literary  taste  was 
nearly  perfect,  and  if  good  original  poems  were  sent 
and  happened  to  come  under  his  eye,  they  were 
pretty  sure  of  a  place  in  the  columns.  When  Mr. 
Edmund  Clarence  Stedman,  who  was  then  a  much 
younger  writer  than  he  now  is,  and  by  no  means  so 
well  known,  offered  his  poem  about  "Lager  Bier," 
Mr.  Greeley  was  much  pleased  with  it,  which  was 
the  more  remarkable  because  he  probably  did  not 
know  the  taste,  even  if  he  knew  the  smell,  of  the 
mild  tipple  which  Mr.  Stedman  celebrated  so  me- 
lodiously. He  called  out  from  his  den  that  the  poem 
reminded  him  of  Thackeray's  ballad  of  "Bouilla- 
baisse "  —  a  remark  worth  repeating,  not  because 
Mr.  Stedman's  poem  is  particularly  like  Mr.  Thack- 
eray's, but  because  it  shows  that  Mr.  Greeley  was 
familiar  with  the  great  novelist's  best  things.  There 
was  a  wedding  about  that  time  which  created  much 
sensation  in  New  York  society  of  a  certain  class,  and 
which  was  very  fully  reported  and  magnified  and 
glorified  and  commented  upon  in  the  New  York 
newspapers.  It  was  called  "  The  Diamond  Wed- 
ding," because  the  bride  was  reported  to  have  re- 
ceived most  costly  gifts  of  precious  gems.  Mr.  Sted- 
man came  forward  with  a  light  satire  upon  fashiona- 
ble frivolities  and  unequal  matches,  which  was 
printed.  The  young  bard  meant  no  harm,  but  he 
nearly  involved  the  newspaper  in  a  libel  suit  for 
which  there  was  not  the  least  possible  reason,  and 
himself  in  a  duel  with  the  irate  papa  of  the  bride, 


A   LAST  "TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      275 

which  would  have  been  more  unreasonable  still. 
Alas  !  this  was  a  great  many  years  ago,  but  I  recol- 
lect that  we  had  no  end  of  fun  out  of  it  at  the  time. 
I  cordially  bear  testimony  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Sted- 
man  was  much  pluckier  about  the  matter  than  he 
would  probably  be  in  a  like  affair  just  now,  since 
years  have  brought  him  multiplied  responsibilities,  a 
literary  reputation  well  worth  nursing,  and,  if  he 
will  pardon  me  for  saying  so,  just  a  little  more  of 
the  commodity  called  and  known  as  common  sense. 
If  the  war  advanced  American  journalism  in  every 
way,  it  did  so  particularly  in  the  creation  of  a  corps 
of  clever  correspondents,  who  reduced  reporting  in 
the  field  to  something  like  a  science.  Even  before 
the  war  the  correspondence  of  the  newspaper  was 
an  important  feature,  and  a  great  deal  of  money  was 
lavished  upon  it.  Mr.  Taylor's  letters  I  have  already 
mentioned,  as  well  as  those  written  from  Boston  by 
Mr.  Quincy  and  Mr.  Carter,  and  the  rather  inde- 
pendent bureau  of  his  own  which  Mr.  Pike  main- 
tained in  Washington.  Mr.  Greeley  himself  was  an 
admirable  letter-writer,  and  did  things  in  that  way 
which  have  never  been  surpassed.  Feats  were  per- 
formed which  are  still  mentioned  with  reverence 
and  respect.  One  of  these  was  that  of  Mr.  Morti- 
mer Thompson,  better  known  as  "  Doesticks,"  who 
visited  Georgia  to  attend  the  sale  by  auction  of  the 
slaves  of  Pierce  Butler,  the  husband  of  Fanny  Kem- 
ble,  and  wrote  an  amusing  account  of  that  vendue. 
Of  course  Mr.  Thompson  took  his  life  in  his  hand 


276 

when  he  went  upon  that  errand.  So  did  the  man 
who  stayed  in  Charleston  through  all  the  hot  days 
preceding  the  secession,  and  mailed  letters  regu- 
larly to  New  York,  which  furnished  us  with  an 
authentic  record  of  the  malign  progress  of  treason. 
He,  too,  would  have  had  but  a  small  chance  of  at- 
taining old  age  if  he  had  been  discovered.  As  usual, 
the  self-constituted  critics  of  newspapers  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  his  letters  were  not  written  in 
Charleston,  as  most  assuredly  they  were.  By  the 
way,  there  is  an  opinion  quite  prevalent  among 
ill-informed  people  that  all  letters,  whether  from 
Paris  or  St.  Petersburg  or  London,  or  other  foreign 
locality,  are  written  in  the  office  of  the  journal  in 
which  they  appear.  I  have  been  told  gravely  by  a 
man  who  was  not  altogether  an  idiot  that  he  knew 
that  nine  tenths  of  the  foreign  correspondence  of  the 
larger  journals  was  of  this  bogus  description.  He 
saw  neither  the  folly  nor  the  impossibility  of  keep- 
ing up  this  kind  of  deception ;  nor  did  I  think  it 
worth  much  expenditure  of  breath  to  undeceive  him. 
This  is  the  last  of  "  The  Tribune  "  chapters.  Much 
more  might  be  written,  but  I  have  written  enough. 
If  my  thoughts  have  been  too  often  with  the  dead, 
I  have  not  for  a  moment  been  unmindful  of  the  liv- 
ing. If  in  the  course  of  these  long  years  I  have 
parted  with  many  collaborators,  Providence  has  been 
kind  to  me  in  supplying  others ;  so  that  the  succes- 
sion of  good  offices  and  friendly  encouragement  has 
never  been  quite  broken.  If  at  some  future  time, 


A  LAST  "TRIBUNE"  RECOLLECTION.      277 

when  I  have  penned  my  last  copy,  and  have  left  the 
"  drudgery  of  the  desk's  hard  wood  "  forever,  some- 
body should  think  it  worth  while,  in  continuing  the 
story,  to  mention  so  unimportant  a  person  as  myself, 
I  beg  him  to  say  this  of  me,  if  he  can  say  no  more,  — 
that  I  worked  for  a  quarter  of  a  century  with  men 
of  many  shades  of  character,  engaged  in  a  most  irri- 
tating occupation,  with  hardly  a  quarrel ;  and  that  I 
have,  thanks  to  everybody's  kindness,  no  reason  to 
believe  that  the  few  last  days  remaining  will  be 
worse  than  the  first. 


273       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  DAYS   OF  THE  KANSAS   BILL. 

A  SENSITIVE  STATESMAN.  —  DR.  NATHAN  LORD  AND  HIS 
SCHOOL.  —  AN  APOLOGY  FOR  PRO-SLAVERY  CLERGYMEN.  — 
FIRST  VISIT  TO  WASHINGTON.  —FIRST  IMPRESSIONS  OF 
SLAVERY.  —  A  GREEK  LETTER  ANNIVERSARY.  —  AUGUSTUS 
C^SAR  DODGE.  —  STEPHEN  A.  DOUGLAS.  —  THOMAS  D. 
ELIOT.  —  PROFESSOR  HENRY. 

I  HAD  been  writing  about  Washington  all  my 
life,  sticking  large  pins  into  distinguished  peo- 
ple who  sometimes  howled  at  the  infliction  in  a 
somewhat  undignified  way,  and  sometimes  —  for 
which  I  respected  them  —  took  no  notice  of  the  sur- 
gical sorrow.  I  do  not  much  like  public  men  who 
whine.  Here  is  a  yellow  letter  which  I  have  taken 
from  its  pigeon-hole,  in  which  the  writer,  who  was 
in  his  day  a  very  distinguished  man,  and  a  senator 
of  the  United  States,  as  well  as  a  governor  of  one  of 
them,  assures  me  that  he  is  much  obliged  to  me  for 
defending  him,  as  I  now  see  clearly  that  I  had  no  right 
to  do.  He  had  made  a  mortal  blunder  at  a  critical 
time  :  he  had  not  voted,  in  fact  he  was  not  in  his 
place,  when  he  should  have  been  in  his  place  and 
should  have  voted ;  for,  during  his  absence,  one  of 
the  most  momentous  questions  was  put  to  which 
the  Senate  of  the  United  States  was  ever  called 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         279 

upon  to  respond.  He  was  so  distinguished  that  I 
do  not  dare  to  mention  his  name.  It  was  evident 
that  he  wrote  in  a  most  melancholy  frame  of  mind. 
Why  should  he  have  thanked  me,  in  rather  an  abject 
way,  for  merely  doing  what  I  supposed  at  the  time 
was  an  act  of  simple  justice  ?  He  said  that  he  had 
few  friends  left;  that  nobody  spoke  well  of  him, 
which  was  not  precisely  true ;  that  his  health  was 
far  from  good ;  that  he  was  absent  from  the  Senate 
at  the  exigent  moment  for  excellent  reasons  —  sani- 
tary, I  think  they  were;  and  that  —  but  never 
mind  the  rest !  Why  should  public  men  write  such 
letters  to  gentlemen  of  the  press?  Why  should 
God,  in  his  infinite  wisdom,  have  given  them  a 
spinal  column  if  they  are  never  to  use  it  ?  Politics 
at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  were  in  a  much 
simpler  state  than  at  present.  The  great  heart  of 
the  land  was  putting  categorical  questions  to  its 
servants ;  there  was  but  little  need  of  asking  them 
more  than  whether  they  were  upon  the  side  of  Free- 
dom or  Slavery.  Ah !  what  a  beautiful  issue  that 
was !  What  a  chance  there  was  for  thrusting  im- 
portant people  into  a  corner !  Sometimes,  when  I 
am  thinking  to  myself  how  neatly  it  was  possible  to 
pin  the  doughface  and  to  throw  the  trimmer  into  a 
perfect  stutter  of  explanations,  I  burst  into  a  great 
guffaw,  and  find  nothing  in  Eabelais,  nothing  in 
Swift,  more  amusing.  It  is  all  over;  the  country 
will  have  no  such  question  again  before  it  in  my 
time ;  men's  souls  are  not  tried  in  that  way  in  every 


280       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

generation ;  and  even  now  I  feel  a  sort  of  sympathy 
for  my  friend,  the  senator  of  whom  I  have  just 
spoken.  When  one  wants  to  be  President,  as  he 
did,  it  is  so  hard  to  act  as  if  one  were  not  demoral- 
ized by  the  feverish  hunger;  though  why  anybody 
should  want  to  be  President  is  more,  very  much 
more,  than  I  know.  Are  there  not  other  ways  of 
getting  our  names  indelibty  inscribed  upon  the  ledg- 
ers of  Fame  ?  And  even  if  they  should  not  be  in- 
scribed there,  what  matter  ? 

I  went  to  Washington  in  1855  upon  the  business 
of  the  Muse.  There  was  a  highly  respectable  Greek 
letter  society  called  the  "  The  Delta-Kappa-Epsilon," 
which,  in  arranging  for  its  annual  meeting  in  that 
city,  was  imprudent  enough  to  ask  me  to  deliver  a 
poem  before  it;  and  this  invitation  I  also  was  im- 
prudent enough  to  accept.  I  never  could  under- 
stand why  the  boys  sent  for  me.  I  do  understand 
why,  some  years  after,  the  Dartmouth  College  young 
gentlemen,  while  the  land  wras  shaken  by  civil  war, 
asked  me  to  perform  for  them  the  same  metrical 
service  ;  for  I  had  written  divers  sharp  things  about 
their  pro-slavery  president,  Dr.  Lord;  and  these 
college  lads  —  it  is  no  credit  to  them  —  always  like 
to  have  evil  spoken  of  their  dignitaries.  It  was  to 
me  a  most  pleasant  occasion.  It  would  have  been 
so  if  it  had  brought  me  only  the  satisfaction  of  list- 
ening to  the  oration  which  was  delivered  by  Mr. 
George  William  Curtis.  This  was  the  second  time 
in  which  I  had  followed  him  with  a  poem  —  the 


THE  DA  YS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         281 

other  being  when  I  read  some  verses  before  the 
Mercantile  Library  Association  in  Boston.  But  I 
deviate  still  from  my  straightforward  way  for  the 
sake  of  mentioning  the  entire  kindness  and  old- 
fashioned  courtesy  with  which  I  was  received  by 
Dr.  Nathan  Lord,  the  president  of  the  college,  and 
by  his  charming  family.  Nothing  has  astonished 
me  more,  in  my  newspaper  career,  than  the  facility 
with  which  men  forgive  the  caustic  things  which 
newspapers  print  of  them.  Dr.  Lord  had  no  sort  of 
scruple  about  saying  that  he  believed  human  slavery 
to  be  a  divine  institution.  He  published  a  pam- 
phlet in  which  he  adopted  the  Socratic  method,  and 
asked  the  philanthropists  a  great  number  of  hard  ques- 
tions. Whoever  supposes  that  they  were  easy  to  an- 
swer upon  the  side  of  emancipation  has  probably  never 
read  this  tough  little  brochure.  When  your  logic  is 
in  your  heart,  and  when  your  love  of  humanity  is 
bound  and  hampered  and  limited  by  constitutional 
obligations,  the  Dr.  Lords,  with  their  teasing  little 
interrogatories,  always  have  you  at  a  disadvantage. 
I  do  not  mind  saying  that,  of  all  the  doctors  of 
divinity  by  me  encountered  in  that  memorable 
struggle,  this  doctor  was  the  least  easily  handled. 
So,  thinking  all  fair  in  war,  I  had  recourse  to  ridi- 
cule ;  and,  in  the  light  tilting,  it  is  not  saying  much 
to  aver  that  I,  who  knew  less  than  the  doctor  had 
forgotten,  had  somewhat  the  best  of  the  battle.  It 
is  so  easy  to  make  havoc  of  a  most  respectable  per- 
son's choicest  respectabilities.  And  when  the  doc- 


282       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

tor,  beaming  mildly  through  his  spectatcles,  treated 
me  as  if  I  had  not  an  hour  before  been  rib-roasting 
him  (as  I  thought)  in  the  most  withering  deca- 
syllabics, I  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  of  a 
peculiarly  forgiving  disposition,  unless,  indeed,  I 
was  a  very  feeble  satirist.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
pay  this  tribute  to  a  clergyman  of  the  old  school, 
who  was  strong  and  solid  and  consistent  in  his 
error,  and  who  could  do  something  more  than 
gabble  over  and  over  again  the  misused  formula, 
"  Cursed  be  Canaan,"  or  the  apology  for  the  "  sum 
of  all  villanies,"  that  it  made  its  victims  happy  and 
religious.  The  best  way  to  handle  a  bull  is  to  take 
him  by  the  horns.  Dr.  Lord  was  all  wrong,  but  he 
was  manfully  wrong.  Liberals  may  say  what  they 
please  about  the  old  orthodox  theology,  but  at  any 
rate  it  made  men  speak  their  mind,  and  gave  them 
a  mind  to  speak. 

I  have  lately  been  looking  over  a  new  book,  writ- 
ten by  my  friend,  Mr.  Oliver  Johnson,  a  valuable 
work,  about  Mr.  Garrison  and  his  Times.  Mr. 
Johnson  undoubtedly  does  show,  that,  during  the 
long  crusade  against  slavery,  a  great  many  clergy- 
men gave  evidence  that  they  were  at  least  mistaken 
in  their  views  of  the  abolition  agitation.  But  I 
confess,  that,  as  I  get  older,  I  am  inclined  to  be  more 
and  more  charitable.  I  think  now  that  I  did  not 
myself  sufficiently  take  into  consideration  the  pecu- 
liar position  of  many  ministers  of  the  gospel  during 
that  momentous  struggle.  To  a  man  who  thought 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         283 

the  church  of  no  importance,  —  considered  as  a  mere 
human  organization,  —  the  way  was  easy.  To  a 
controversialist  with  simply  humanitarian  views  of 
Christianity,  it  made  no  difference  whether  these 
great  ecclesiastical  bodies  maintained  their  exist- 
ence or  not.  But  Presbyterians,  Congregationalists, 
Methodists,  Episcopalians,  even  Unitarians,  had 
special  ideas  of  the  process  by  which  souls  were  to 
be  regenerated,  and  of  the  machinery  by  which  the 
world  was  to  be  Christianized.  It  was  not*  much 
for  a  man  like  myself,  attached  to  no  church,  and 
with  no  religion  to  speak  of,  to  sharply  criticise,  for 
instance,  the  Eev.  Dr.  Adams  or  the  Eev.  Dr.  Lord. 
I  have  not  so  much  charity  for  Mr.  Eufus  Choate, 
Dr.  Adams's  most  distinguished  parishioner.  The 
eloquent  lawyer  had  no  congregation  to  conserve, 
and  no  sacred  professional  bias.  A  great  many 
clergymen  think  religious  matters  to  be  things  quite 
apart  from  politics  and  public  affairs ;  and  perhaps 
I  should  if  I  were  a  doctor  of  divinity,  as  I  certainly 
am  not.  It  is  hard  to  say  exactly  what  I  mean 
without  appearing  to  surrender  opinions  which  I 
have  never  dreamed  of  abandoning ;  but,  as  history 
should  be  written  with  scrupulous  exactness,  I  want 
the  future  chronicler  of  the  great  controversy  to 
remember  that  it  was  the  church  members  some- 
what more  than  the  church  pastors  who  were  to 
blame.  The  former  at  least  knew  better.  I  am  not 
sure  that  the  pastors  always  did.  I  reached  honestly 
this  conclusion  once  while  talking  with  the  Eev. 


284       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

Dr. ,  of  Boston.  He  was  an  excellent  speci- 
men of  his  class.  He  came  into  my  office,  and  was 
so  friendly  and  brotherly,  and  withal  exhibited  such 
a  natural  incapacity  for  grasping  the  situation,  that 
all  my  wrath  vanished,  and  I  was  really  sorry  for 
some  perfectly  true  things  which  I  had  said  of  one 
of  his  most  conservative  Thanksgiving  sermons. 
The  chief  blunder  was  in  assuming  that  the  pulpit 
had  nothing  to  do  with  slavery.  It  was  a  sad  mis- 
take if-  only  considered  logically.  But  let  us  forgive 
if  we  cannot  forget !  It  is  not  an  agreeable  subject, 
and  we  will  travel  back  from  New  Hampshire  to 
Washington  as  fast  as  possible. 

I  had  thought  and  read  and  talked  and  written 
so  much  about  slavery,  that,  as  we  rode  into  the 
region  of  human  bondage,  I  was  quite  upon  the  qui 
vive  to  discover  indications  of  its  existence  and 
influence.  The  first  exhibition  which  I  had  of  it 
was  at  a  station  in  Delaware,  upon  the  steps  of 
which  seven  or  eight  veritable  chattels  were  sitting, 
all  rags  and  laziness,  intensifying  the  delight  of 
doing  nothing  else  by  masticating  tobacco.  Soon 
afterwards  I  saw  another  of  my  sable  friends,  in 
whose  behalf  I  had  worn  out  many  pens  and 
spoiled  much  paper,  coming  out  of  a  wood,  seated 
upon  the  back  of  the  single  ox  which  drew  his 
cart.  But  I  did  not  fully  comprehend  the  laziness 
and  the  utter  shiftlessness  of  the  patriarchal  system 
until  I  got  into  my  hotel  in  "Washington,  and  wanted 
a  fire.  I  am  afraid  to  say  how  many  children  of 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         285 

Canaan  struggled  and  labored  and  fetched  and 
carried  before  we  arrived  at  a  comfortable  combus- 
tion. First,  one  bondman  came  up  and  cleared  out 
the  grate ;  then  another  brought  the  necessary  kind- 
ling-wood, but  forgot  the  shavings  ;  then  arrived  the 
coal  in  charge  of  a  third  assistant ;  and  then  a  bond- 
woman appeared  and  made  the  fire.  It  did  not 
seem  to  me  that  one  of  these  co-laborers  had  the  least, 
idea  of  what  he  or  she  was  doing.  A  sharp  New- 
York  porter  would  have  had  the  fire  blazing  beauti- 
fully in  five  minutes,  and  the  room  too  hot  for  endu- 
rance in  ten.  I  made  a  memorandum  in  my  diary 
that  the  only  cruelty  which  I  had  observed  in  Wash- 
ington was  that  which  I  had  myself  experienced ;  and 
I  took  good  care  not  to  let  the  fire  go  out  during  my 
stay,  having  a  decided  apprehension  that  once  ex- 
tinguished it  would  be  found  utterly  impossible  to 
rekindle  it. 

We  had  the  exercises  before  the  Delta-Kappa- 
Epsi-lonians  the  next  evening,  and  I  have  a  vague 
recollection  of  being  seized  by  the  right  arm  as  if  I 
had  been  blind,  like  Homer,  and  so  led  helplessly 
forward  by  the  Honorable  Augustus  Csesar  Dodge, 
who  was  only  a  senator  notwithstanding  his  imperial 
name.  He  introduced  me  to  the  audience,  which  I 
was  told  included  a  good  many  members  of  Congress. 
I  learned  this  afterward.  I  was  kindly  spared  the 
depressing  information  beforehand.  Otherwise, 
Heaven  only  knows  how  I  should  have  got  on. 
The  boys  kicked  up  a  great  dust  in  applauding  my 


286       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

verses ;  but  what  I  liked  most  was  that  the  Massa- 
chusetts members  who  were  present  made  it  a  point 
of  local  honor  and  State  esprit  to  be  perfectly  de- 
lighted and  to  roar  with  laughter  at  all  the  principal 
funny  passages.  Those  were  days  in  which  we  were 
just  beginning  to  feel  that  we  were  somebody  and 
could  produce  men  as  well  as  ice  and  granite.  One 
of  our  members  particularly  distinguished  himself 
by  his  obstreperous  hilarity  and  afterward,  when 
there  was  a  "  reception "  at  the  hotel,  he  continued 
to  break  out  at  intervals  and  in  an  unexpected  way, 
besides  going  about  and  telling  everyone  who  was 
not  present  how  much  they  had  missed.  The  ban- 
quet came  afterwards. 

It  was  at  this  festive  board  that  I  first  saw  a  man 
pretty  well-known  and  much  talked  of  in  his  day. 
This  was  the  Honorable  Stephen  A.  Douglas,  a  son 
of  New  England,  a  veritable  product  of  the  Green 
Mountain  State,  at  least  in  his  pluck,  persistency 
and  muscular  self-assurance  and  self-assertion.  I 
did  not  like  him,  and  I  regarded  his  whole  political 
system,  so  far  as  it  related  to  slavery,  with  absolute 
detestation.  This,  however,  shall  not  prevent  me 
from  saying  that,  of  all  the  men  in  Washington,  he 
most  impressed  me  with  a  sense  of  power  and  of  a 
rare  and  reserved  force.  Nobody  who  did  not  see 
him  can  comprehend  the  aptness  of  that  title  of 
"  Little  Giant "  which  was  bestowed  upon  him ;  but 
they  may  be  assured  that  it  describes  him  exactly. 
It  would  be  hard  and  unjust  to  say  that  his  manner 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         287 

was  arrogant  and  domineering ;  it  was  rather  that 
of  a  man  who  had  carefully  thought  out  his  opinion, 
knew  precisely  what  it  was,  and  stood  prepared  to 
defend  it  against  all  comers.  He  championed  bad 
measures  with  such  indomitable  ability  that  in 
listening  to  him  the  feeling  was  predominant  of 
poignant  regret  that  he  was  not  upon  the  right  side. 
It  is  useless  to  speculate  now  about  it ;  but  I  cannot 
help  thinking  of  what  infinite  value  this  remarkable 
man  might  have  been  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  if  the 
fortune  of  politics  had  made  him  a  leader  of  it. 
What  a  magnificent  battle  he  fought  in  the  senate 
for  a  most  mischievous  measure  is  well  known ; 
how  he  succeeded  for  a  time  in  turning  the  policy 
of  the  Government  from  the  normal  to  the  noxious, 
it  would  be  superfluous  to  narrate ;  and  how,  after 
all,  the  spirit  of  the  century  and  the  power  of  eter- 
nal truth  and  justice  were  too  much  for  this  doughty 
but  disappointed  soldier  of  slavery.  He  was  like  a 
game-cock.  Upon  any  allusion  which  he  did  not 
like,  he  was  ready  for  the  affray.  I  saw  something 
of  this  at  our  supper.  Mr.  Eliot,  a  member  of  the 
House  from  Massachusetts,  was  one  of  our  speakers, 
and  being  an  antislavery  man  through  and  through, 
with  views  of  the  Kansas-Nebraska  bill  which  were 
quite  unmistakable,  made  some  reference  to  it  which 
was,  of  course,  perfectly  good-natured,  but  quite 
enough  to  provoke  a  strong  retort  from  Mr.  Douglas. 
This  also  was  tempered,  I  admit,  by  the  proprieties 
of  the  occasion,  but  it  was  couched  in  very  decided 


288       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

language  and  laid  down  with  the  air  of  one  unaccus- 
tomed to  positive  contradiction.  The  "Little  Giant" 
seemed  to  say  to  the  representative,  "Ah  !  my  friend, 
if  I  only  had  you  in  my  own  stronghold,  the  Senate 
Chamber,  would  n't  I  crunch  you ! "  Not  that  Mr. 
Eliot  was  in  the  least  dismayed ;  the  man  who  used 
to  bring  in  bills  at  all  decent  intervals  for  the  repeal 
of  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law  was  not  likely  to  be 
frightened  even  by  the  Giant's  "  Fee-faw-fum "  ; 
this  small  passage-at-arms  came  to  a  pacific  con- 
clusion ;  and  the  feast  went  on  until  the  larger  of 
the  small  hours,  with  much  singing  of  college  songs, 
and  many  ebullitions  of  college  wit,  until  it  was 
quite  fit  and  proper  that  everybody  should  go  to 
bed. 

I  do  not  know  that  the  character  of  Congress,  in 
its  superficial  aspects,  has  much  changed  since  the 
time  of  which  I  am  writing.  Accustomed  to  the 
perfect  decorum  and  methodical  ways  of  smaller 
legislative  bodies,  I  did  not  relish  either  the  airs  or 
manners  of  the  House  which  was  too  large  then  for 
dignity,  whatever  it  may  now  be.  After  a  little 
while  I  was  glad  to  go  into  the  serener  atmosphere 
of  the  Smithsonian  Institute  and  to  present  to  Pro- 
fessor Henry  a  letter  of  introduction  with  which  I  had 
been  favored.  In  conversation  with  that  learned 
and  amiable  man,  during  which  he  was  good  enough 
to  consider  my  scientific  ignorance,  and  to  talk  about 
things  which  I  could  a  little  understand,  I  forgot 
the  turmoil  and  restlessness  of  the  National  Legis- 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         289 

lature,  as  well  as  the  peculiarities  of  a  city  which 
had  not  then  attained  its  present  height  of  elegance 
and  refinement.  Soon  I  was  glad  to  set  my  face  to 
the  North,  to  return  to  my  daily  toil,  and  to  say  what 
I  thought,  uninfluenced  by  lobbies,  and  breathing 
an  air  somewhat  less-  contaminated  by  ambition  and 
intrigue.  There  was  a  fierce  party  spirit  then,  which 
has  since  much  abated ;  and  whether  we  have  grown 
better  or  only  more  indifferent  I  shall  not  stop  to 
consider.  How  many  who  were  then  full  of  life 
and  energy  have  departed  !  How  many  who  were 
then  famous  have  been  forgotten !  The  great  man 
in  the  White  House,  the  great  man  in  the  Senate, 
many  great  men  in  the  House  of  Eepresentatives 
have  ceased  to  be  great,  or  have  ceased  to  be  at  all 
Yet  this  republic  still  lives  by  sheer  force  of  its 
innate  political  virtue,  which  neither  partisan  nor 
civil  war  has  been  able  to  destroy.  May  it  live  for- 
ever ! 

These  are  remarkable  years  which  we  have  so 
cursorily  considered  :  how  the  historical  student  of 
the  future  may  regard  them,  it  is,  perhaps,  useless, 
as  it  would  be  unprofitable,  to  conjecture.  Yet  with 
the  knowledge  which  I  possess  of  ancient  times,  I 
see  nothing  in  their  trials  and  turmoils  and  troubles, 
in  the  rise  and  the  decadence  of  their  empires  and 
republics,  with  so  thorough  a  savor  of  progress 
stimulated  and  set  forward  by  the  highest  morality. 
We  must  go  to  the  age  of  Calvin  and  of  Luther  for 
anything  like  it.  I  think  that  if  the  question  of  the 
19 


290       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

abolition  of  slavery  had  been  merely  a  political 
one,  the  bondmen  and  bondwomen  might  to-day  be 
grinding  in  the  mills  of  their  oppressors.  It  is  hard 
even  now  to  comprehend  that  slavery  was  a  social 
blunder.  The  Slave  States  enjoyeda  reasonable  degree 
of  prosperity,  their  monopoly  of  a  single  commodity 
was  eminently  in  their  favor;  an  aristocratic  class  had 
been  established  to  whom  the  exemption  from  com- 
mercial vicissitudes,  the  freedom  from  the  anxiety 
of  daily  toil,  and  ample  leisure  for  the  cultivation 
of  the  graces  of  life  had  invested  with  a  certain 
hereditary  urbanity  of  manner,  and  a  carelessness 
of  material  matters  akin  to  generosity.  Six  centu- 
ries ago  the  relation  of  master  and  slave  might  have 
been  perpetuated  with  many  features  to  admire  and 
with  peculiarities  at  once  engaging  and  beneficent. 
I  suppose  that  it  must  be  admitted  that  many  of  the 
slave-owners  were  really  patriarchal  in  their  manage- 
ment of  this  estate  of  human  beings  which  they  had 
inherited ;  but  there  was  undoubtedly  cruelty,  op- 
pression, and  wretchedness.  The  institution  de- 
veloped passions  and  cupidities  which  were  doubtless 
distasteful  to  the  well-bred  gentlemen  of  South 
Carolina.  Ease  of  life  led  to  imprudent  expendi- 
ture. The  family  idea  of  slavery  was  continually 
disturbed  by  death,  and  by  the  change  of  prop- 
erty which  it  involved.  Still,  matters  might  have 
struggled  on  for  another  century,  without  catas- 
trophe, if  the  Slave  States  had  not  been  integral 
portions  of  the  Federal  Union,  theoretically  com- 


THE  DAYS  OF  THE  KANSAS  BILL.         291 

mitted  to  the  doctrines  of  democracy,  and  under 
the  daily  necessity  of  listening  to  contemptuous 
comments  upon  the  wide  discrepancy  between  their 
profession  and  practice.  It  would  have  been  very 
different  if  the  South  had  not  taken  refuge  in  the 
expedient  of  extension,  if  the  North  had  been 
without  a  moral  right  to  protest.  The  fatal  error  of 
the  slaveholders  was  their  failure  to  keep  within 
their  own  limits,  from  which,  indeed,  they  might  have 
defied  all  the  agitation  possible.  If  they  had  yielded 
just  a  little,  they  would  have  been  in  an  impregnable 
situation.  But  they  forgot  the  wisdom  of  the  in- 
junction, Quieta  non  movere,  with  results  which 
deposed  them  from  the  proudest  of  social  positions 
and  reduced  them  to  beggary. 


292      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

CHAPTER    XXIL 

OLD   TIMES  AND  TRAITS. 

NEW  YORK  HALF  A  CENTURY  SINCE.  —  AN  OLD  NEW  ENGLAND 
TOWN.  —  MY  FIRST  TRAGEDY.  —  SOCIAL  CHARACTERISTICS.  — 
STAGE  COACH  TRAVELLING.  —  ANCIENT  AMUSEMENTS.  —  A 
FINE  OLD  LADY. 

"IHIFTY  years  do  not  seem  to  be  much,  especially 
JL1  when  one  has  lived  them,  and  has  no  like  term 
of  life  before  him.  It  has  been  my  fortune  to  exist 
during  a  time  in  which  there  have  been  astonishing 
changes ;  indeed,  upon  a  little  cursory  reflection,  I 
have  been  unable  to  fix  upon  any  other  half-century 
in  which  there  have  been  so  many.  This  comes 
partly,  I  may  say  mostly,  of  material  discoveries  and 
inventions.  Even  where  these  were  then  already 
under  practical  experiment,  there  have  been  such 
improvements  that  the  old  seems  almost  childish 
and  clumsy.  I  remember,  for  instance,  about  the 
year  1828,  to  have  seen  the  old  Chancellor  Living- 
ston, the  first  of  our  palace-boats,  come  half  sailing 
and  half  steaming  into  our  harbor,  her  old-fashioned 
engine  in  full  operation,  while  above  it  were  mainsail 
and  foresail  and  topsail,  —  in  fact,  a  full  ship-rig. 
She  was  the  first  great  steamer  which  we  had  seen, 
and  much  she  surprised  and  delighted  us.  We 
nearly  dislocated  our  jaws  with  wonder  and  admir- 


OLD    TIMES  AND    TRAITS.  293 

ation  in  looking  at  her,  for  we  were  very  primitive, 
even  at  that  late  day,  down  in  our  little  seaport  of 
New  Bedford.  We  had  vessels  enough,  but  nothing 
like  that.  We  had  ships  and  barks  and  brigs, 
schooners  and  sloops  and  all  manner  of  boats,  but 
we  had  never  seen  a  large  steamer  before.  The 
Benjamin  Franklin,  the  twin  boat  of  the  Chancellor 
Livingston,  came  the  next  year,  and  again  we  had 
an  excitement.  I  suppose  that  there  are  some  New 
Yorkers  left  who  remember  Captain  Coggeshall,  of 
the  Chancellor,  and  Captain  Bunker,  of  the  Frank- 
lin. The  former  was  a  New  Bedford  man,  and  the 
last,  by  his  name,  should  have  come,  either  directly 
or  through  his  ancestors,  from  Nantucket.  We  had 
close  nautical  relations  with  New  York  at  that  time. 
Several  of  the  old  Liverpool  liners,  among  them  the 
George  Washington  and  the  Patrick  Henry,  I  think, 
were  built  by  our  own  clever  shipwrights ;  and  more 
than  one  of  the  masters  of  these  celebrated  ships 
were  our  townsmen.  People  who  know  something 
of  the  New  York  piers  will  recall  the  names  of 
Crocker  and  Nye  and  Delano.  The  Grinnell,  in 
the  old  house  of  Fish,  Grinnell,  &  Co.,  was  a  New 
Bedford  man ;  and  the  name  of  Rowland,  famous  in 
the  commercial  annals  of  New  York,  is  a  New  Bed- 
ford name,  and  so  are  the  names  of  Hathaway  and 
of  RusselL 

I  have  before  me  the  manuscript  diary  of  an  old 
New  Bedford  merchant  who  visited  New  York  in 
1823.  He  was  a  Quaker,  but  Quakerism  just  then, 


294       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

while  the  fierce  fights  of  the  Orthodox  and  the  Hick- 
sites  were  raging,  sat  very  loosely  upon  some  shoul- 
ders; and  I  am  not  surprised  to  find  our  friend 
recording  how  he  went  to  the  Park  Theatre  to  see 
Charles  Matthews  in  "  Mons.  Tonson."  He  notices, 
what  I  do  not  exactly  understand,  that  "  the  glass 
curtain  of  the  theatre  had  a  fine  effect  in  dancing." 
The  next  night  he  went  to  the  theatre  again,  and 
notes  the  dolefully  thin  house,  —  "  only  eleven  per- 
sons in  the  boxes  when  the  first  act  was  performed." 
He  saw  something  which  was  not  so  pleasant.  This 
was  the  treadmill,  "which  was  in  full  operation." 
There  were  thirty  persons  on  the  wheel  at  a  time, 
and  as  many  more  seated.  Every  half  minute  a  bell 
rang  by  machinery.  Then  one  came  off  and  another 
took  his  place.  Our  friend  was  fortunate  in  filling 
the  old  ship  which  he  had  brought  round  with  him 
with  freight  for  Hamburg,  and  notes  that  John 
Jacob  Astor  was  the  principal  shipper.  Among  the 
curious  things  which  the  visitor  saw  was  the  debark- 
ation of  Prince  Murat,  who  arrived  from  Hamburg. 
Mustaches  were  then  unknown,  and  the  unshaven 
appearance  of  his  Highness  gave  him  rather  a  savage 
look.  Soap  and  razors  in  those  days  were  the  abso- 
lutely necessary  moral  concomitants  of  civilization. 
Indeed,  I  do  not  know  any  change  of  a  minor  kind 
more  marked  than  that  which  has  occurred  in  re- 
spect of  beards.  The  first  mustaches  which  I  ever 
saw  were  those  of  a  small  troupe  of  Spanish  singers 
who  came  to  give  a  concert  in  our  village  in  the 


OLD    TIMES  AND    TRAITS.  295 

year  1827.  "We  advanced  to  common  sense  in  this 
matter  by  degrees ;  and  long  after  the  old  gentle- 
men were  reconciled  to  the  beard  upon  the  chin, 
they  protested  stoutly  against  hair  upon  the  upper 
lip.  They  entered  into  no  consideration  of  Nature's 
reasons  for  placing  it  there ;  they  did  not  see  that 
the  absurdity  was  in  shaving  it  off.  They  connected 
it  with  immorality  and,  Heaven  knows  why,  with 
laxity  of  manners  and  of  life.  Once  when  I  had  de- 
livered a  lecture  upon  "  John  "Wesley,"  and  delivered 
it  from  a  pulpit,  an  old  uncle  seriously  advised  me 
to  shave  myself  before  I  again  ventured  into  that 
sanctified  place.  And  so,  after  seeing  various  other 
sights,  our  diarist  went  in  the  steamboat  to  Newport, 
and  "  in  a  gig  "  home  to  his  "  native  village,"  where 
he  found  sperm  oil  worth  from  thirty  to  forty  cents 
a  gallon.  Those  who  have  had  occasion  to  buy  it 
know  what  it  has  sold  for  at  different  periods  since. 
It  is  easy  to  grow  sentimental  over  the  past ;  to 
talk  of  the  virtues  of  our  forefathers,  of  their  simple 
methods  of  life,  and  of  how  they  kept  the  even  tenor 
of  their  way.  But  I  am  honestly  inclined  to  the 
opinion  that  "  the  good  old  times  "  exist  only  in  the 
brooding  imaginations  of  those  who  regret  them. 
Making  allowance  for  opportunity,  I  do  not  believe 
that  men  fifty  years  ago  were  any  better  than  they 
are  now,  nor  do  I  think  that  the  dwellers  in  small 
towns  were  then  any  better  than  the  inhabitants  of 
large  cities.  I  have  seen  wonderful  changes,  and 
most  of  them  have  been  improvements.  I  hardly 


296       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

think  that  the  people  fifty  years  ago  were  any  more 
careful  in  their  habits,  though  the  cost  of  living  has 
undoubtedly  been  enhanced.  It  is  possible  to  spend 
more  money,  but  then  there  is  more  money  to  spend. 
A  good  many  things,  for  instance,  have  been  care- 
lessly said  about  the  temperance  reform  and  the 
matter  of  hard  drinking.  When  a  total  abstinence 
orator  is  upon  his  legs,  with  none  to  contradict  him 
or  make  him  cautious,  he  is  apt  to  declare  that  there 
is  more  wine-bibbing  and  spirit-selling  now  than 
ever.  But  I  can  remember  when  it  was  not  a  par- 
ticular disgrace  to  be  drunk,  and  a  score  of  tragedies 
which  came  of  intemperance ;  when  every  country 
tavern  was  a  grog-shop  and  was  expected  to  be ; 
when  there  could  be  no  harvesting,  no  house-raising, 
no  fire,  and  no  funeral,  —  not  even  the  ordination 
of  a  minister  of  the  gospel  without  some  indulgence 
in  alcoholic  bibacity.  Never  shall  I  forget  a  horror 
which  I  experienced  when  I  was  but  a  little  beggar 
of  a  boy.  Going  upon  some  errand,  I  saw  a  crowd 
gathered  about  the  house  of  a  neighbor,  and  was  half 
frightened  out  of  my  small  senses  by  being  told  that, 
in  a  drunken  fit,  he  had  killed  himself  with  his  razor. 
Some  garrulous  woman  with  cruel  kindness  gave 
me  all  the  particulars,  and  filled  my  soul  with  dis- 
tress for  weeks.  She  told  me  how  the  wretch  got 
under  the  bed  to  do  the  deed,  and,  after  he  had  done 
it,  carefully  deposited  the  razor  between  the  bed  and 
the  bed-cord.  So  I  had  my  first  lesson  in  tragedy 
then  and  there  upon  that  cold  winter  morning,  and  it 


OLD   TIMES  AND    TRAITS.  297 

was  not  the  frosty  air  alone  which  made  me  shake. 
Much  of  that  same  tragedy  have  I  since  perused  in 
many  books  and  seen  in  many  theatres.  I  have 
wrestled  with  disquisitions  upon  terror  and  pity ;  I 
have  learned  something  of  grim  ^Eschylus,  of  sweet- 
mouthed  Sophocles,  and  of  Euripides  philosophical 
even  in  his  frenzies ;  I  have  heard  the  knocking  in 
"  Macbeth,"  and  read  what  the  astute  De  Quincey 
says  of  it  so  finely  :  but  all  these  together  have  not 
filled  me  with  such  a  sense  of  destiny  and  of  human 
helplessness  as  came  to  me  when  I  saw  the  pale 
faces  of  the  bystanders  and  caught  "the  cry  of 
women"  within  those  humble  walls.  It  was  ill 
sleeping  for  me  that  night,  and  for  many  a  night 
after ;  and  until  I  had  a  good  deal  outgrown  my  af- 
fright I  did  not  grudge  a  pretty  long  detour  rather 
than  pass  that  house  of  woe.  There  were  other 
dwellings  in  which  strange  things  had  been  done,  at 
which  I  gazed  nervously;  but  this  particular  spot 
I  could  not  go  by  for  years  without  a  shudder,  for 
there  I  had  my  first  knowledge  of  self-slaughter. 

I  sometimes  divert  myself  by  making  an  inven- 
tory of  things  which  we  have  now  which  we  did  not 
have  when  I  was  a  boy.  There  are  many  who  re- 
member all  about  the  clumsy,  old-fashioned  tinder- 
box,  and  who  have  scraped  their  knuckles  piteously 
while  imitating  Prometheus,  and  striking  the  flint 
against  the  steel,  until  at  last  the  tinder  caught  the 
divine  spark.  A  better  way  was  to  bank  up  the 
wood  fire  at  night,  for  we  had  wood  fires  then,  and 


298       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

live  coals  enough  for  kindling  would  be  found  in 
the  morning.  The  wonted  fire  (see  Gray)  lived  in 
the  ashes.  The  first  inventions  for  obtaining  the 
desired  flame  were  clumsy.  There  was  the  French 
fire-box,  as  it  was  called ;  the  matches  in  them  it 
was  necessary  to  dip  in  a  little  bottle  of  acid ;  some- 
times they  were  inflamed  by  the  process,  but  oftener, 
as  I  remember  it,  they  were  not.  The  friction  match 
was  at  first  very  clumsy.  The  lucifers  it  was  ne- 
cessary to  pull  briskly  through  folded  sand-paper.  At 
last  came  the  match  as  we  have  it  now,  handy,  cer- 
tain, and  convenient.  The  improvement  in  pens 
was  similarly  slow.  The  good  gray  goose-quill  was 
all  we  had  at  first.  When  our  stern  old  pedagogue 
tried  to  teach  us  the  art  of  making  a  pen,  we 
blundered  and  cut  our  fingers,  and  some  of  us,  my- 
self among  the  number,  never  mastered  the  mystery 
after  all.  The  first  metallic  pens,  which  were  of 
silver,  were  the  very  worst  instruments  of  the  kind 
which  I  ever  saw.  The  first  steel  pens  were  not 
much  better.  There  was  a  certain  horrible  "oblique 
pen,"  as  it  was  called,  which  did  nothing  but  spatter 
and  blot  and  catch  in  the  paper,  and  do  everything 
which  a  pen  should  not  do.  Metallic  pens  were 
then  sold  in  little  cases  containing  half  a  dozen,  and 
cost  ten  or  fifteen  cents  apiece. 

In  housekeeping,  also,  there  have  been  innumera- 
ble changes.  Alas !  we  had  firesides  then,  around 
which  we  cosily  gathered  to  watch  dreamily  the 
consumption  of  the  well-seasoned  oak-wood,  and  to 


OLD   TIMES  AND   TRAITS.  299 

indulge  in  social  converse.  Possibly  people  may 
enjoy  themselves  now  quite  as  well  huddled  about  a 
register ;  I  have  no  doubt  of  the  fact  that  their  backs 
are  warmer,  for  our  backs,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  were 
often  cold  while  our  faces  were  aflame :  but  to  sit 
there  and  chat  and  dream  while  the  firelight  flick- 
ered upon  the  ceiling  and  in  the  mirror,  and  made 
the  great  brass  andirons  two  separate  and  distinct 
glories ;  to  read  by  that  light,  with  our  young  eyes, 
some  fairy  tale,  or  to  con  the  lesson  of  the  next  day ; 
to  see  in  the  glowing  log  castles  and  caverns,  giants 
and  fairies,  and  even  excellent  maps  of  the  United 
States ;  to  repeat  verses  which  maternal  taste  and 
tenderness  took  care  should  be  good  ones,  —  how 
charming  it  all  seems  to  me  now !  How  we  dreaded 
the  stroke  of  nine,  which  sent  us  off  to  our  cold 
beds  !  But  we  needed  a  plenty  of  sleep,  and  we  got 
it,  though  during  the  winter  months  breakfast  was 
eaten  by  caudle-light.  Dinner  was  at  noon,  and 
even  that  was  two  hours  later  than  Queen  Elizabeth 
ate  hers.  Tea  at  five  concluded  the  eating  for  the 
day,  unless  there  were  nuts  and  apples  in  the  course 
of  the  evening.  It  was  all  a  simple,  but  it  was  a 
happy  life,  —  much  happier  than  any  which  I  antici- 
pate in  the  days  which  remain  to  me.  It  is  quite  as 
pleasant  and  as  profitable  to  dream  a  boy's  dreams 
through  a  long  winter  evening  as  it  is  to  attend  what 
are  called  "receptions,"  at  which  a  great  many  women 
and  men  either  talk  of  what  they  do  not  understand 
or  of  what  I  do  not  understand ;  or  sing  songs  which, 


300       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

whatever  the  key,  make  me  sad ;  or  play  musical 
puzzles  upon  the  pianoforte ;  and  absurdly  bid  you 
"  good  night "  at  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  without 
caring  half  a  penny  whether  you  live  or  make  an 
end  of  your  part  of  all  the  tomfooleries  of  the  world 
before  sunrise. 

It  is  something  to  have  lived  and  to  have  travelled 
before  the  invention  of  the  railway.  Journeying 
was  indeed  journeying  then ;  for,  if  the  distance  to  be 
accomplished  was  at  all  considerable,  a  whole  day 
was  required.  Boston  was  sixty  miles  from  us  :  we 
started  in  the  great  heavy  coach  at  daylight  in  the 
summer,  and  before  daylight  in  the  winter,  a  mes- 
senger being  sent  round  the  town  to  wake  up  the 
passengers.  The  coach  was  a  heavy  lumbering  affair, 
not  at  all  like  the  pretty  amateur  vehicle  which  I 
sometimes  see  in  the  New  York  streets ;  but  the 
horses  were  good  ones  and  were  often  changed,  and 
the  coachman  (we  really  called  him  the  driver), 
though  not  exactly  a  Tony  Weller,  was  a  nearer 
approach  to  that  worthy  person  than  it  would  now 
be  easy  to  find  in  any  part  of  the  land.  I  remem- 
ber that  this  solid,  heavy-coated  man,  with  a  pro- 
digious natural  talent  for  managing  horses,  talked  to 
them  as  if  they  were  human  beings,  and  if  he  was 
in  the  mood,  and  you  were  on  the  box,  he  could  talk 
to  you  —  about  them.  I  do  not  think  that  he  cared 
at  all  for  any  forms  of  animated  nature  except  the 
equine,  and  the  human  in  the  shape  of  passengers. 
He  had  a  way  of  confiding  to  you  his  estimate  of  the 


OLD    TIMES  AND    TRAITS.  301 

moral  character  of  his  steeds,  and  of  letting  you 
know  that  this  wheel-horse  was  vicious,  and  that 
leader  lazy,  —  an  opinion  of  which  the  leader  was 
instantly  reminded  by  a  skilful  flick  of  the  whip. 
Upon  my  first  journey  to  Boston,  as  I  was  to  be 
alone  and  was  yet  little,  I  was  particularly  confided 
to  his  care.  He  therefore  took  me  up  on  the  box 
with  him,  and  I  had  an  excellent  view  of  the  sur- 
rounding country.  What  a  delicious  day  it  was ! 
How  we  bowled  merrily  along  through  the  green 
meadows  and  under  the  bluest  of  skies,  past  the  farm- 
houses nestled  in  the  orchards  which  were  great 
clouds  of  white  blossoms !  Now  we  dashed  through 
a  quiet  village,  which  was  too  sleepy  to  take  even  a 
lazy  look  at  us ;  then  our  way  for  a  time  would  be 
under  the  grateful  shade  of  the  woods;  then  by 
river  or  little  inland  lake ;  and,  as  we  rushed  up  to 
the  stables  which  were  stations  for  changing  horses, 
the  grooms  would  be  out  in  a  moment  with  the  fresh 
team,  and  so  we  were  on  again.  When  we  stopped 
for  dinner  at  the  roadside  inn,  and  ate  of  the  plain, 
substantial  fare  which  was  set  before  us,  we  thought 
it  all  ambrosia  and  nectar.  I  have  partaken  of  the 
triumphs  of  famous  cooks  since,  but  they  seem  to  me 
like  dry  and  sauceless  chips  in  comparison.  This 
was  indeed  pleasant  travelling.  If  I  had  not  regis- 
tered a  vow  to  growl  no  more  in  these  papers,  I 
might  say  something  sharply  of  our  modern  rail- 
way whirling  through  a  fine  country  which  we 
cannot  view,  and  to  our  utterly  prosaic  way  of  ac- 


302       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

complishing  distances.  Now,  if  one  wishes  to  see 
anything,  he  must  go  either  on  foot  or  on  horseback. 
But  we  save  time,  and  time  is  money ;  and  money 
is  a  thing  for  which  I  have  an  inexpressibly  pro- 
found veneration.  So  I  say  no  more.  However  ve- 
hement in  our  motions,  we  shall  sometime  all  be  still 

• 

enough. 

For  all  that  we  got  in  the  way  of  public  shows, 
our  village  life  would  have  been  dull  indeed.  Amuse- 
ment-lovers, who  cannot  live  without  going  to  see 
or  to  hear  some  new  thing,  little  know  with  what  a 
modicum  of  diversion  honest  folk  can  contrive  to 
live.  Now  and  then  a  wandering  circus,  or  a  me- 
nagerie of  proportions  which  the  enterprising  Bar- 
num  would  have  scorned,  paid  us  a  visit.  To  the 
circus  I  could  not  go,  because  of  certain  prejudices, 
of  Quaker  origin,  still  entertained  in  our  house ;  but 
all  the  horse-riders  then  were  wont  to  pass  through 
the  streets  in  full  costume,  and  I  looked  wonder- 
ingly  at  them  in  their  faded  finery,  as  they  cantered 
along  upon  their  Arabian  or  Hanoverian  steeds  to 
the  sound  of  the  trumpet.  Perhaps  I  have  never 
in  my  life  longed  for  anything  so  much  as  I  longed 
for  a  sight  of  the  interior  glories  of  that  small  tent 
which  the  manager  called  a  pavilion.  Menageries 
were  not  held  to  be  immoral,  and  they  were  not 
large  enough  then  to  do  much  harm  or  much  good 
either.  Street  shows  we  had,  of  a  kind  which  are 
now  so  uncommon  that  I  may  venture  to  say  a  word 
of  them,  The  street  juggler,  for  instance,  has  he 


OLD   TIMES  AND   TRAITS.  303 

become  altogether  obsolete  ?  He  was  clothed  in  a 
costume  of  no  particular  age,  and  of  a  fashion  which 
may  be  properly  described  as  fanciful.  He  spread  a 
carpet  upon  the  sidewalk  and  proceeded  to  business. 
He  balanced  pipes  upon  his  nose ;  he  kept  a  dozen 
oranges  simultaneously  in  the  air;  he  swallowed  a 
sword,  to  my  juvenile  horror,  as  I  conjectured  what 
medicine  he  took  for  its  digestion ;  he  sent  down 
after  the  sword  a  great  quantity  of  tow,  and  then 
breathed  fire  and  smoke  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils. 
Then  he  carried  round  a  hat,  and  as  nobody  put  any- 
thing into  it,  he  loudly  declared  himself  utterly  dis- 
gusted with  the  town,  and  expressed  his  intention  of 
getting  out  of  it  as  soon  as  possible.  I  suppose  that 
he  kept  his  word,  for  I  saw  nothing  more  of  him. 
But  there  came  in  his  place  the  most  wonderful 
sight  which  ever  made  boys  happy.  The  readers  of 
Dickens  will  remember  his  amusing  and  graphic 
description  of  English  showmen,  particularly  in  "  The 
Old  Curiosity  Shop  " ;  but  we  have  few  of  the  genu- 
ine breed  in  this  country.  Dancing  dogs  are  rare 
now,  at  least  in  the  public  streets ;  but  a  wandering 
impressario  brought  to  our  town  a  canine  company, 
—  a  most  accomplished  troupe  of  dogs  indeed.  The 
orchestra  of  this  establishment  consisted  of  but  one 
performer,  but  the  name  of  that  performer  was  le- 
gion. Unaided  and  alone  he  made  a  prodigious 
amount  of  noise  and  jingle.  He  whistled  upon  the 
pandean  pipes,  which  were  somehow  stuck  in  his 
greasy  velvet  waistcoat;  he  clashed  the  cymbals 


304      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

which  were  fastened  to  his  elbows ;  he  managed  a 
Turkish  chime  of  bells  by  jerking  and  wriggling  and 
shrugging  his  shoulders ;  and,  having  his  hands  yet 
free,  beat  sonorously  upon  the  drum  before  him. 
All  this  time  he  kept  his  eye,  which  was  a  villanous 
one,  upon  his  dogs  and  monkeys ;  and  I  might  add 
that  they  kept  their  eyes  upon  him.  One  dog 
turned  a  small  spinning-wheel ;  another  waltzed  as 
if  waltzing  for  a  \vager ;  another  patiently  bore  upon 
his  back  the  ugliest  monkey  of  them  all ;  a  fourth 
walked  about  with  a  tin  cup,  soliciting  the  pecuniary 
donations  of  the  spectators.  And  all  this  time  the 
master  of  the  show  maintained  a  musical  racket, 
with  his  whistling  and  drumming  and  bell-ringing. 
It  was  delicious ;  it  was  romantic ;  it  was  fascinat- 
ing; it  was  unprecedented.  All  the  school-boys 
were  tardy  that  day,  and  were  duly  whipped,  as  they 
expected  to  be.  I  bore  my  own  fustigation  with 
somewhat  less  outcry  than  usual,  and  thought  of 
dancing  dogs  instead  of  arithmetic  and  geography 
through  the  whole  session. 

There  wras  a  good  deal  left  in  our  town,  in  my 
boyhood,  of  old-fashioned  manners  and  of  old-timed 
courtesy,  and  many  a  relic  of  the  old  colonial  days, 
when  the  distinction  of  classes  was  much  wider 
than  it  now  is.  There  were  still  many  who  pro- 
nounced the  English  language  according  to  Walker, 
and  said,  "  I  am  much  oblecged  to  you  " ;  many  who 
were  not  afraid  of  being  considered  proud,  and 
thought  more  of  their  blood  than  of  their  property ; 


OLD    TIMES  AND    TRAITS.  305 

wlio  hung  their  arms  upon  the  wall,  —  gules,  fesse, 
crest  and  all;  and  who  left  in  their  wills  curious 
little  gold  rings,  fashioned  in  the  form  of  a  death's 
head,  to  be  given  to  their  bearers  at  the  last.  Years 
and  years  after,  I  saw  one  of  these  upon  the  finger 
of  a  pretty  girl,  who  told  me  it  had  come  to  her 
from  her  great-grandfather,  who  received  it  at  Squire 
W — 's  funeral.  There  were  fine  old  ladies  then, 
who  showed  you  with  great  pride  the  portraits  of 
their  ancestors  painted  by  Copley,  and  in  such  lace 
and  velvet  and  brocades  as  only  Copley  has  ever 
painted.  One  of  these  ancient  dames  I  well  remem- 
ber, who,  when  I  was  taken  into  her  presence  by 
my  mother,  filled  my  childish  soul  with  awe,  —  so 
stiff,  so  stately,  so  grandly  mannered  was  she,  as 
she  sat  bolt  upright  in  her  great  chair  with  no 
apparent  pressure  of  her  eighty  years  upon  her. 
She  fanned  herself  with  the  air  of  an  empress.  She 
presided  at  the  tea-table,  and  poured  out  the  bever- 
age with  her  old  hands  into  cups  which  would  set 
a  collector  of  the  present  day  wild.  She  made 
every  guest  her  particular  care,  and  asked  everyone 
scrupulously  if  the  tea  was  agreeable.  She  had 
the  old  way  of  pressing  her  visitors  to  take  a  little 
more  of  this  or  that,  —  a  custom  which  had  come 
down  from  the  time  when  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu  carved  for  her  father's  guests,  and  recom- 
mended tid-bits  to  the  Whig  lords  and  squires. 
She  was  the  embodiment  of  scrupulous  decorum 
and  civility,  and  I  doubt  if  anything  could  have 
20 


306       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

betrayed  her  into  the  discourteous  or  rude.  Whether 
such  manners  were  worth  preserving  or  not  need 
not  be  here  discussed.  Everybody  now  is  a  lady  or 
a  gentleman.  One  must  be  particularly  ill-bred 
not  to  be  thought  well-bred.  Not  to  be  attentive  to 
the  feelings  of  others,  not  to  care  what  they  think 
of  you,  not  to  reverence  years,  not  to  pay  any  special 
deference  to  women,  not  to  know  what  is  civil  and 
what  is  the  opposite,  may  be  just  as  well.  I  do  not 
profess  to  decide  the  point.  I  do  not  know. 

Nor  do  I  know  how  many  of  my  readers  will 
care  for  this  cursory  record  of  old-time  traits  and 
far-away  days.  Each  thinks  the  careless,  sunny  time 
which  he  calls  his  youth  the  best,  and  looks  down 
to  it  sometimes  through  a  mist  of  tears  which  only 
brings  it  nearer.  We  must  bear  with  each  other  in 
those  foibles.  Fortunately  for  a  reminiscent,  men 
are  naturally  curious  about  the  minutest  matters  of 
the  past,  and  though  exceedingly  well  satisfied  with 
themselves,  are  disposed  to  think  favorably  of  their 
ancestors.  It  will  be  sufficient  if  I  have  pleasantly 
reminded  my  reader  of  his  own. 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  307 


CHAPTEE  XXIII. 

MORE    NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES. 

ERRORS  AND  THEIR  CORRECTORS.  —  PRIVATE  SENSITIVENESS. 
—  THE  MAN  WHO  WANTS  TO  RUN  FOR  CONGRESS.  —  ACTORS 
AND  ACTRESSES.  —  THE  ABOMINABLE  DEVICES.  —  FEATS  OF 
EXTEMPORANEOUS  PRODUCTION.  —  A  GREAT  CRITIC  AND 
JOURNALIST.  • 

I  SUPPOSE  that  there  are  few  things  of  which 
most  men  know  so  little  as  they  know  of  the 
manufacture  of  newspapers.  It  is  the  business  of 
those  who  edit  to  furnish  the  world  with  reading ; 
it  is  the  business  of  the  world  to  find  fault.  I  have 
sometimes  wished  that  I  could  introduce  these  con- 
stant critics  and  censors  to  some  better  knowledge 
of  the  difficulties,  anxieties,  and  perplexities  of  the 
journalist's  vocation :  it  is  possible  that  their  hearts 
might  be  softened,  their  tongues  stayed,  and  their 
querulous  animosity  subdued.  As  it  is,  most  of 
mankind  seem  to  stand  guard  over  us,  ready  to 
pounce  down  upon  us  at  the  slightest  aberration  of 
memory,  the  smallest  error  of  detail,  the  minutest 
possible  mistake  or  misstatement  of  fact.  They  do 
not  seem  to  understand  that  the  most  ardent  desire  of 
the  honest  journalist  is  to  be  right.  Always  he  goes 
into  detail  with  fear  and  trembling.  Generally,  no 
lawyer  preparing  for  nisi  prius  or  for  terms  takes 


308       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

more  pains,  or  subjects  himself  more  entirely  to  the 
diligence  of  research ;  and  yet,  in  spite  of  all  this, 
the  journalist  sometimes  finds  that  he  has  blundered 
into  depths  of  error,  and  has  been  egregiously  misled 
by  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  authority.  But 
whether  that  error  be  large  or  small,  he  is  sure  to 
be  instantly  informed  of  it.  Somebody  at  once 
finds  him  out ;  and  just  as  surely  as  somebody  finds 
him  out,  there  comes  a  letter,  airy  with  superior 
knowledge,  or  ferocious  with  a  sense  of  personal  in- 
jury, or  fussy  in  its  splitting  of  hairs.  Alas  !  we 
have  so  many  critics,  each  of  them  mounted  either 
upon  a  hobby-horse  or  a  charger  of  personal  injury  ! 
Every  human  being,  in  my  opinion,  is  pleased  to 
detect  any  other  human  being  in  a  mistake.  To  do 
so  proves  his  sagacity,  knowledge,  discrimination, 
virtue,  and  morality.  I  had  excellent  evidence  of 
this  while  these  papers  were  in  the  course  of  their 
first  publication.  Scores  of  obliging  persons  were 
good  enough  to  correct  me.  I  frankly  acknowledge 
that  it  was  my  own  memory  that  was  occasionally 
in  the  wrong,  but  quite  as  often  I  have  been  right. 
It  is  hardly  worth  mentioning ;  but  surely  it  is  not 
always  the  fagged  and  overworked  journalist  who 
blunders.  For  the  newspaper  man  who  deliberately 
publishes  to  the  wrorld  a  falsehood,  or  even  does  so 
through  inexcusable  carelessness,  I  have  no  respect, 
and  could  hardly  have  much  affection.  But  be- 
tween honest  error  and  falsehood  there  is  a  wide 
moral  difference. 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  309 

My  own  experience  of  the  sensitiveness  of  man- 
kind has  been  a  long  one.  I  was  threatened  with 
personal  chastisement  before  I  was  out  of  my  nonage 
by  an  irascible  person  who,  when  I  criticised  his 
political  party,  thought  that  I  meant  him.  Although 
I  had  not,  Heaven  help  me !  a  spare  penny  in  my 
pocket,  there  was  a  furious  old  gentleman  who  was 
scarcely  restrained  by  his  more  prudent  lawyer  from 
bringing  an  action  against  me  for  libel.  To  this 
day  I  have  never  understood  how  he  expected  to 
collect  the  damages  which  he  might  recover.  A 
country  editor,  as  I  was  then,  lives  in  an  atmosphere 
of  botherations.  Everybody  wants  to  use  his  sheet 
for  the  purpose  of  advertising  gratis  either  his  goods 
and  chattels  or  his  opinions.  He  wishes  the  small- 
est details  of  his  own  personal  experience  to  be  put 
upon  record,  from  the  birth  of  his  first  child  to  the 
raising  of  his  last  overgrown  pumpkin.  School- 
girls send  poetry  which  it  is  impossible  to  print,  and 
tell  the  unhappy  recipient  that  they  are  themselves 
unhappy ;  that  they  have  yearnings ;  and  that  their 
yearnings  will  be  to  a  limited  extent  allayed  by  the 
appearance  of  the  enclosed  stanzas  in  the  Poets' 
Comer  of  "  your  valuable  newspaper."  Sometimes, 
in  my  salad  days,  I  used  to  buck- wash  their  poetry, 
correcting  it  something  as  Voltaire  did  that  of  Fred- 
erick the  Great ;  whereupon  "  Ella  "  or  "  Minnie  " 
would  write  to  me  in  great  wrath,  and  unmistakably 
say  that  they  had  nothing  to  thank  me  for,  —  and 
perhaps  the  pretty  creatures  were  right.  The  worst 


310       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

condition  of  a  journalist  is  that  into  which  he  falls 
when  everybody  knows  him;  when  any  aggrieved 
person  can  walk  straight  up  to  his  desk  and  take 
him  to  task  summarily;  when  all  the  subscribers 
remember  who  his  grandmother  was,  and  can  retal- 
iate by  defiling  the  grave  of  his  grandfather.  There 
is  no  man  for  whom  I  entertain  a  profounder  sym- 
pathy than  for  the  country  editor  and  publisher,  — 
usually  they  are  one,  —  who  would  make  a  ridicu- 
lous failure  of  it  if  he  attempted  to  shelter  himself 
under  an  incognito  ;  whose  outgoings  and  incomings 
are  known  of  all  his  neighbors  ;  who  can  hear  him- 
self brought  to  judgment  if  only  he  steps  into  a 
shop.  Often  he  has  not  the  tolerable  consolation 
of  prosperity.  He  works  hard  for  a  mere  pittance. 
People  who  owe  him  money  think,  for  some  inscrut- 
able reason,  that  he  is  the  last  man  to  be  paid.  The 
expenses  of  the  establishment  are  not  great,  but  on 
the  other  hand,  the  income  is.  painfully  small.  He 
hardly  ever  experiences  the  joy  of  making  both  ends 
meet,  and  much  less  the  supreme  felicity  of  seeing 
them  lap  over.  Yet  the  toil  must  go  on,  and  of  the 
trouble  there  is  no  end.  Such  are  the  pains  of  ru- 
ral journalism,  and  indeed  of  journalism  in  places 
which  would  feel  publicly  aggrieved  if  they  should 
be  designated  as  rural. 

There  is  a  journalism  in  some  cities  counting  their 
inhabitants  by  many  thousands,  which  is  hardly 
more  delightful.  There  are  several  classes  of  people 
who  seem  to  think  that  newspapers  are  printed  en- 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  311 

tirely  for  their  benefit  and  behoof.  Among  these 
are  actors,  politicians,  and  the  writers  of  small  books, 
together  with  all  men  who  have  bees  in  their  bon- 
nets ;  who  mistakenly  think  that  they  have  invented 
something,  when  they  have  merely  reproduced  some 
dusty  and  worthless  model  in  the  Patent  Office ; 
who,  feeling  all  up  and  down  their  spinal  columns 
that  the  world  is  all  wrong,  are  thoroughly  sure 
that  they  were  born  to  set  it  right ;  who  are  always 
in  labor,  like  the  mountain,  and  desire  a  puff  for  the 
mouse  before  he  makes  his  appearance.  Foremost 
among  these  is  the  man  who  wants  to  run  for  Con- 
gress, and  who  yearns  for  the  glory  of  the  candidacy, 
albeit  he  has  not  the  ghost  of  a  chance  of  being  re- 
turned. Many  unhappy  mortals  afflicted  by  this 
mania  have  I  seen  in  my  time,  and  I  hereby  delib- 
erately declare  them  to  be  the  most  stupendous 
bores  upon  record.  I  have  known  at  least  half  a 
hundred  affected  by  this  disease,  and  perhaps  two 
of  them  have  succeeded  in  their  heart's  desire.  I 
know  the  symptoms  of  this  malady  as  well  as  a 
doctor  knows  those  of  the  whooping-cough.  I  have 
seen  a  number  of  patients  afflicted  by  it  even  in 
cities,  though  I  believe  that  it  is  less  manageable 
in  the  country.  The  man  who  wants  to  run  for 
Congress  begins  by  cultivating  the  friendship  of 
the  newspapers.  If  he  makes  a  speech  in  any 
little  meeting,  he  brings  it  written  fairly  out  and 
quite  ready  for  the  compositor.  He  calls  frequently 
upon  the  unfortunate  journalist,  and  he  stays  a  great 


312       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

deal  longer  than  he  is  welcome.  He  dribbles  his 
"  views  "  into  unwilling  ears,  and  pothers  away  at  a 
great  rate,  until  you  wish  that  the  gods  would  sud- 
denly strike  him  dumb  —  or  dead  !  He  subscribes 
his  money  —  if  he  has  any  or  can  borrow  any  —  for 
everything,  —  the  orphans'  home,  the  public  library, 
the  temperance  society,  the  church  itself;  all  are 
gladdened  and  enriched  by  his  donations.  Usually 
in  Massachusetts  he  was  deeply  if  not  furiously  of 
antislavery  opinion ;  totally  abstinent  he  also  was 
—  theoretically.  Whatever  he  was  doing  or  saying, 
in  his  uprisings  and  down- sittings,  in  his  eating  and 
his  drinking,  in  his  pleasure  and  his  business,  his 
eye  saw  far  away  the  swelling  proportions  of  the 
Capitoline  dome.  Such  were  some  of  the  symptoms 
of  this  curious  disease,  which  I  have  known  to  take 
entire  possession  of  the  whole  constitution  of  an 
otherwise  healthy  man,  and  quite  spoil  him,  if  not 
for  life,  at  least  for  many  years.  The  monomaniac 
often  bored  me;  but  if  any  one  should  recognize 
the  portrait,  let  him  rest  assured  of  my  entire  for- 
giveness. He  really  had  the  worst  of  it,  whether 
he  got  to  Congress  or  not. 

Anong  those  who  think  that  newspapers  are  spe- 
cially printed  for  their  use  are  the  amusement-mon- 
gers. The  whole  bad  business  of  puffery  was  upon  a 
much  lower  basis  not  a  great  many  years  ago ;  and  the 
manager  of  a  theatre,  for  the  consideration  of  a  free 
admission,  thought  himself  entitled  to  the  occupation 
of  as  many  columns  as  he  cared  to  fill.  Actors  I  have 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  313 

always  found  a  particularly  sensitive  class.  "When 
their  performances  were  not  extolled  to  the  zenith, 
they  were  given  to  the  display  of  much  bad  temper. 
You  must  not  only  praise  them  profusely,  but  you 
must  praise  their  wives  and  children,  if  they  chanced 
also  to  be  upon  the  boards.  As  I  did  not  write  the 
notices  of  these  "  artists,"  I  did  not  see  why  I  should 
be  bothered  about  them ;  but  bothered  I  was,  and 
often  sorely.  One. morning  there  walked  into  the 
Atlas  office  in  Boston  a  gentleman  of  large  pro- 
portions and  of  even  more  than  Eoman  dignity.  He 
had  in  his  hand  a  cane,  which  I  thought  vibrated  in 
an  ominous  manner;  and  all  doubt  was  removed 
when,  in  his  most  rotund  vein  of  tragic  elocution,  he 
expressed  the  intention  of  chastising  me.  I  was 
as  innocent  as  an  unborn  babe  of  any  wrong  which 
I  had  done  him,  except  that  of  listening  sometimes 
to  his  loudest  speeches  in  rather  a  listless  way,  and 
of  denying  him  a  meed  of  tears,  even  when  he 
personated  "  The  Stranger,"  —  a  part  which,  in  the 
most  incompetent  hands,  usually  makes  the  pit  cry 
profusely.  I  found  out  immediately  that  my  foe 
was  a  certain  Mr.  P.  of  the  Boston  Theatre,  and  I 
further  found  out  that  my  theatrical  critic  had  said 
something  about  Mr.  P.'s  wife,  she  also  being  upon 
that  stage.  Now,  the  critic  aforesaid  was  a  perfectly 
well-bred  gentleman,  an  Oxford  man ;  and  I  could 
not  believe  that  one  who  had  taken  a  double  first, 
and  knew  all  about  Euripides  and  JEschylus,  could 
be  guilty  of  any  impropriety  in  speaking  of  a  lady. 


314       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

It  turned  out  that  he  had  said  nothing  of  her  acting, 
either  good  or  bad,  but  something  about  her  dress, 
which  he  thought  inappropriate.  I  gave  this  fierce 
Thespian  to  understand  that  he  was  indulging  in 
too  much  noise  about  a  small  matter,  and  that  he 
had  better  make  his  exit  at  once.  I  suppose  he 
thought  so  too,  for  he  left  with  an  air  of  consummate 
dignity.  Manager  Crummies  couldn't  have  done 
it  better. 

Sometimes  I  got  a  touch  of  nature  in  the  letters 
which  were  sent  from  the  theatre  to  my  newspaper, 
which  made  me  as  soft  and  amiable  as  a  child. 
Theatrical  audiences,  upon  both  sides  of  the  ocean, 
know  Mrs.  John  Wood.  Mr.  Barry  brought  her 
over  from  London  when  he  opened  the  Boston  The- 
atre, to  act  soubrettes  and  parts  in  which  the  dis- 
tinction of  the  sexes  in  respect  of  clothing  is  ignored. 
She  danced  clumsily  and  sang  prettily ;  but  a  woman 
fuller  of  a  fine  sense  of  humor  I  have  never  seen 
behind  the  footlights.  She  had  a  husband  who  did 
the  low  comic  business,  and  did  it  badly.  He 
thought  that  fun  consisted  in  painting  carbuncles 
on  his  nose,  in  that  extravagant  St.  Vitus  style  of 
twitching  the  arms  about  which,  I  believe,  passes 
for  funny  in  England,  and  in  being  as  much  like  a 
clown  in  a  horse-riding  as  possible.  Our  critic  no- 
ticed mildly  but  firmly  these  peculiarities  of  Mr. 
John  Wood,  and  suggested  that  he  was  not,  upon 
the  whole,  provocative  of  laughter,  and  hardly  of  a 
sickly  smile.  The  letter  which,  upon  the  publication 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  315 

of  these  comments,  was  sent  to  me  was  an  admi- 
rable evidence  of  the  love  of  woman,  which  endureth 
almost  to  the  end.  Mrs.  Wood  informed  me  that 
Mr.  Wood  was  acknowledged  by  English  critics 
to  be  the  superior  of  Buckstone ;  that  his  reputation 
throughout  the  United  Kingdom  was  of  the  first 
order ;  and  that  I  had  better  be  careful  how  I  al- 
lowed anybody  to  speak  disrespectfully  of  him  in 
my  newspaper.  The  dear,  bright  little  woman !  It 
was  n't  our  fault  if  she  got  quite  too  much  of  him 
afterward,  and  was  obliged  to  send  him  adrift. 

When  Mademoiselle  Rachel  began  her  season  in 
Boston,  her  manager  demonstrated  his  ability  in 
that  capacity  by  sending  to  the  press  no  tickets. 
We  had  all  solemnly  determined  to  take  no  notice 
of  her  whatever  on  the  morning  after. her  debut;  but 
dear  old  Tom  Barry,  the  lessee  of  the  theatre,  heard 
of  the  blunder,  and  sent  down  the  tickets  in  sheaves. 
One  little  peculiarity  of  this  engagement  was  that 
I  wrote  all  the  articles  on  Mademoiselle  Eachel's 
acting  in  our  newspaper  without  knowing  a  word 
of  French.  I  looked  these  marvels  of  criticism  over 
lately,  and  was  much  astonished  at  the  superiority 
of  my  job-work.  A  really  good  journalist  never  be- 
trays his  ignorance  of  anything.  He  carries  the 
whole  encyclopaedia,  so  to  speak,  in  his  vest-pocket. 
How  did  I  do  it  ?  Well,  I  did  it  much  as  Captain 
Shandon,  in  the  debtors'  prison,  did  the  prospectus 
of  the  magazine,  when  he  asked  for  Burton's  Anat- 
omy of  Melancholy,  and  wished  to  be  left  to  his 


316       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

"  abominable  devices."  Mr.  Goodrich,  the  foreman 
of  the  office,  whom  I  still  remember  gratefully  as 
the  best  proof-reader  this  erroneous  world  ever  saw, 
happened  to  know  French  well,  and  helped  me 
kindly.  I  bought  the  translation  of  "Phedre,"  of 
"Adrienne,"  and  the  rest;  I  threw  in  all  manner  of 
profound  and  acute  critical  observations ;  I  followed 
the  play  carefully  at  the  theatre,  and  I  accomplished 
the  work  beautifully.  We  saved  fifty  dollars,  which 
would  have  hired  a  really  competent  critic,  and 
given  our  readers  something  which  it  might  have 
been  worth  their  while  to  read.  They  found  no 
fault  with  my  ingenious  reports  of  the  wonderful 
tragedienne  in  Boston.  Why  not  ?  Why,  because, 
I  suppose,  they  knew  no  more  about  the  matter  than 
I  did. 

I  have  thought  it  worth  while  to  give  this  illus- 
tration of  what  I  count  among  the  pains  of  journal- 
ism. I  have  given  it,  not  that  I  would  underrate 
the  calling  which  has  supplied  me  with  bread  all 
my  life ;  but  because  I  would  have  the  reader 
understand  how  hard  we  have  to  work,  to  what 
shifts  we  are  exposed,  and  how  we  have  a  constant 
use  for  all  the  faculties  which  God  has  gifted  us 
withal.  The  foremost  pain  of  journalism  is  the 
egregious  miscellaneousness  of  the  work  which  is 
required.  There  must  be  perpetual  alertness.  There 
must  be  that  accurate  general  knowledge  which 
sends  a  man  instantly  to  the  right  authority.  There 
must  be  that  self-suspicion,  that  distrust  of  memory, 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  317 

which  sets  one  to  searching ;  to  say  nothing  of  that 
industry  which  knows  no  difference  between  night 
and  day.  Whoever  undertakes  to  write  for  a  news- 
paper needs  what  Napoleon  called  the  courage  of 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  must  have  a  hand 
to  grasp  a  subject  with  celerity;  to  be  able  in 
twenty  minutes  to  tear  the  heart  out  of  it ;  to  fasten 
upon  all  the  points  at  a  glance ;  to  see  their  humor 
or  their  tragedy ;  to  understand  their  relation  to  the 
general  drift  of  his  own  newspaper;  and  to  write 
about  them  in  English  which  will  keep  the  break- 
faster  for  five  minutes  from  his  coffee  and  his  rolls. 
Does  anybody  suppose  that  this  is  easy  to  do  ?  I 
say  that  it  is  hard  to  do,  and  do  well;  and  I 
think  I  ought  to  know.  Take  a  leading  article, 
for  instance.  You  may  go  the  rounds  of  the  uni- 
versities and  the  colleges,  the  churches,  and  all  the 
places  which  men  of  culture  frequent,  and  how 
many  men  will  you  find  who  can  write  a  leading 
article  ?  Outside  of  the  newspaper  offices,  I  venture 
to  say,  few  indeed.  There  is  no  trouble  in  getting 
essays ;  but  well  do  I  remember  how  Mr.  Greeley 
used  to  condemn  some  of  our  articles  as  "  too 
essayish."  Learning  is  good ;  accuracy  is  better ; 
grasp  of  the  subject  cannot  be  dispensed  with  ;  or- 
thodox grammar,  so  far  as  the  English  language  has 
any  grammar,  is  highly  desirable :  but  more  desir- 
able than  all  is  the  tact  which  enchains  the  reader, 
and  makes  him  conclude  that  which  he  began. 
There  must  be  a  salient  vivacity  in  the  lines  which 


318       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

prevents  him  from  seeing  how  many  of  them  there 
are,  until  he  has  finished  them. 

The  reason  why  so  few  men  comparatively  succeed 
in  journalism  is  because  so  few  have  for  it  the  tem- 
perament and  the  constitution.  More  than  a  moiety 
of  mankind  is  slow,  deficient  in  alacrity,  and  devoid 
of  a  sense  of  proportion.  The  art  of  putting  things 
rapidly  in  shape  is  not  well  understood  by  the 
general.  This  is  the  reason  why  we  have  long- 
winded  sermons,  lectures  promotive  of  somnolency, 
and  magazine  work  which  presupposes  that  longevity 
vouchsafed  to  the  long-abiding  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  the  Old  Testament. 

Every  journalist  of  any  ability  recollects  feats 
which  he  has  accomplished,  which  it  does  not  seem 
to  him  he  could  ever  do  again,  —  reaches  of  persis- 
tent labor,  which  stretched  through  all  the  daylight, 
and  were  continued  after  the  evening  gas  was  lighted, 
long  after  admonitions  came  to  him  that  the  press 
was  waiting,  and  that  the  forms  must  be  closed  up 
immediately.  Sometimes,  by  the  evening  fireside, 
I  sit  and  dream  of  the  great  things  which  I  once 
did,  not  in  any  spirit  of  self-sufficiency,  but  in 
my  own  humble  way,  as  Swift  dreamed,  while  the 
intellectual  shadows  were  closing  around  him. 
"  What  a  genius  I  had  when  I  wrote  that  book ! " 
he  used  to  say  of  the  "  Tale  of  a  Tub."  Well,  even 
little  men,  who  have  done  their  best,  may  look  back 
upon  their  triumphs.  I  do,  for  one,  and  I  should 
not  be  very  civil  to  whomsoever  should  gainsay  me. 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  319 

I  remember  how  once  a  great  statesman  died,  and 
the  wires  sent  us  the  melancholy  intelligence  at 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  I  should  like 
to  know  what  most  people  capable  of  doing  it  at 
all  would  have  said  if  they  had  been  called  upon 
for  a  biography  of  that  statesman,  covering  the 
whole  period  of  his  life,  all  his  political  history, 
with  a  decent  estimate  of  what  he  had  done,  and  of 
his  talents  and  character,  —  all  this  to  fill  some  six 
columns  of  "The  Tribune,"  and  all  to  be  ready 
within  nine  hours !  I  have  not  forgotten  that 
"  Obituary,"  nor  how  some  people  criticised  it  and 
found  faults  and  errors  in  it,  and  how  few  under- 
stood the  difficulties  of  the  work,  or  thought  of  the 
fagged  and  weary  man  who  had  done  his  best,  and 
had  not  done  it  badly.  Bless  the  breakfast-table 
critics,  how  sharp  they  were,  and  how  knowing! 
Bless  also  the  sagacious  gentleman  who  had  a  month 
in  which  to  consider  the  matter,  to  turn  it  over 
leisurely,  to  ransack  the  chambers  of  memory,  and 
to  take  down  book  after  book  from  the  library 
shelves  !  He  would  have  finished  it  all  charmingly 
in  the  daytime,  alone  in  his  study,  but  not  quite 
so  well  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  with  the 
night  editor  at  his  elbow  and  the  night  foreman 
howling  through  the  speaking-tube. 

The  public  is  not  inconsiderate,  it  is  only 
ignorant.  The  newspaper  is  a  mystery  of  the 
manufacture  of  which  it  knows  hardly  anything. 
Those  who  give  to  it  the  enthusiasm  of  youth, 


320      REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

the  vigor  of  manhood,  and  whatever  wisdom  old 
age  may  have  brouglit  with  it  might  have  won  an 
abiding  fame  in  this  department  of  literature  or  the 
other,  in  the  fields  of  science,  in  the  arena  of  public 
affairs.  Taste  or  accident  has  betrayed  them  into  a 
humble  sphere  of  human  exertion,  nor  do  they 
quarrel  with  their  fortune.  He  who  drifts  into 
journalism  seldom  leaves  it ;  he  still  plods  on  in  the 
daily  toil  which  for  him  has  a  rare  fascination. 
Often  there  is  no  fame  for  him.  The  cleverest 
newspaper  man  may  be  utterly  unknown,  and  not 
forgotten  only  because  he  has  never  been  remem- 
bered. His  heart,  however,  is  stout  at  any  rate ; 
and  come  competency  or  the  lack  of  it,  come  the 
highest  or  the  humblest  position,  he  still  toils  with 
irrepressible  cheerfulness,  and  hopes  when  all  is 
over  that  his  associates  who  survive  him  will  be 
reasonably  sorry  or  solemn  at  his  funeral. 

Only  yesterday  a  great  many  of  us  were  gathered 
together  to  take  our  last  look  at  a  familiar  face,  and 
to  see  in  cold  obstruction  a  noble  form  which  for  so 
many  years  we  had  only  known  as  full  of  activity 
and  animation.  We  all  listened,  I  am  sure,  with  as 
much  pleasure  as  was  compatible  with  the  occasion 
to  the  tender  and  admirable  words  which  fell  from 
the  good  clergyman,  as  lie  pronounced  his  large  and 
catholic  estimate  of  Dr.  Ripley's  religious  nature. 
Nothing  could  have  more  perfectly  befitted  the 
place  and  the  time.  If  so  incompetent  a  person  as 
myself  may,  in  this  quite  different  place,  offer  to 


NEWSPAPER  EXPERIENCES.  321 

the  dead  man  of  letters,  to  the  departed  journalist, 
a  stammering  sentence  or  two  of  farewell,  —  to  the 
writer  whom  we  all  first  respected  and  then  rever- 
enced, an  inadequate  tribute,  let  me  try  to  impart 
to  those  who  read  me  some  sense  of  the  great  work 
which  Dr.  Ripley  had  done  for  the  American  mind 
and  for  American  culture,  through  the  medium  of 
the  daily  press.  We  write  about  politicians,  —  he 
wrote  about  sages  and  the  immortal  of  the  earth. 
We  discuss  things  which  to-morrow  will  be  forgot- 
ten, —  he  spoke  to  an  army  of  readers,  of  the  books 
which  they  should  read,  and  of  the  books  which 
they  should  avoid.  It  is  when  I  consider  such 
accomplishment  as  his  that  I  am  proudest  of  my 
vocation.  It  was  given  to  him  —  it  is  not  given  to 
most  of  us  —  to  keep  close  to  the  great  argument  of 
human  duty,  informed  and  guided  by  elevated 
thought.  The  columns  which  knew  him  will  know 
him  no  more  forever ;  but  these  thinkers  who  knew 
him  as  a  mentor,  only  not  infallible  because  human- 
ity is  always  fallible,  will  sadly  miss  his  assistance, 
and  will  associate  with  fames  which  are  wider  and 
higher  the  name  of  one  who  was  much  else,  but 
who  was  also  a  journalist. 


21 


322       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS. 

TRAINING  FOR  JOURNALISM.  —  THE  OFFICE  THE  BEST  SCHOOL. 

—  WASTED  OPPORTUNITIES. — WHAT  A  REAL  NEWSPAPER 
is.  —  THE  OLD  EDITORS. — THE  REWARDS  OF  JOURNALISM. 

—  ITS  ASSOCIATIONS  AND  DIGNITY. 

I  SAID  in  iny  last  chapter  that  men  drift  into 
journalism.  I  ought  to  have  added  that  this 
is  not  so  nearly  true  as  it  once  was.  Lads  who 
have  been  liberally  educated  turn  their  backs  oftener 
than  was  once  common  upon  law,  physic,  and  divin- 
ity, and  seek  employment  which  they  hope  to  make 
permanent  from  some  respectable  public  journal.  I 
believe  that  they  are  rather  astonished  if  they  are 
not  met  by  the  editors  with  arms  wide  open,  and 
invited  at  once  to  the  higher  seats  and  services  of 
the  sanctuary.  A  brisk  young  fellow  may  be  much 
disappointed,  and  naturally  a  little  mortified,  to  find 
that  there  is  nothing  for  him  but  running  after  fires 
and  reporting  robberies ;  that  there  is  no  market  in 
the  newspaper  offices  for  his  Greek,  Latin,  and 
mathematics ;  and  that  he  must  go  through  a  pretty 
stiff  and  prolonged  apprenticeship  before  he  can 
hope  for  promotion.  If  he  be  wise,  he  does  as  well 
as  he  can  what  is  given  him  to  do;  exhibits  all  pos- 


NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  323 

sible  industry,  guards  himself  sedulously  against 
bad  habits  of  life,  begins  at  once  the  study  of  public 
affairs,  reads,  whenever  he  can  find  opportunity,  the 
best  books,  and  so  prepares  himself  for  the  higher 
business  of  his  chosen  profession.  This  matter  of 
training  for  journalism  has  been  often  discussed,  and 
in  many  respects  the  discussion  has  been  profitable. 
I  used  to  think  that  distinct  and  separate  schools 
for  educating  young  men  to  the  vocation  would  be 
eminently  useful.  .Years  ago  I  wrote,  as  well  as  I 
could,  an  article,  which  was  printed  in  "  The  Inde- 
pendent" newspaper,  suggesting  such  institutions. 
Nobody  paid  the  least  attention  to  it,  and  possibly 
it  did  not  deserve  any.  I  have  so  far  modified  my 
opinion  that  I  now  think  the  best  school  to  be  the 
newspaper  office  itself.  Nothing  so  keeps  men 
learning  as  the  sharp  spur  of  necessity.  Nothing 
makes  men  thoughtful  like  a  sense  of  responsibility. 
There  is  nothing  like  the  discipline  of  being  told 
plumply  that  you  have  done  bad  work,  and  that 
there  will  be  no  more  work  for  you  to  do,  if  you 
cannot  do  it  better.  I  want  those  brisk-minded 
lads,  who  have  taken  salutatories  and  valedictories, 
and  college  prizes  without  number,  to  comprehend 
that  newspaper  management  is  merciless,  and  not  in 
the  least  a  respecter  of  persons.  I  suppose  that  it 
was  the  sophomoric  airs  which  these  young  fellows 
pleased  to  put  on  which  made  Mr.  Bennett,  who 
had  a  first-rate  journalistic  instinct,  generally  de- 
cline to  give  them  employment.  He  used  to  say 


324      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

that  it  would  take  longer  to  train  them  than  they 
would  be  worth  after  training.  Mr.  Greeley,  who 
had  a  fine  literary  taste,  and  a  warm  respect  for  men 
of  letters,  was  more  considerate  of  their  feelings,  but 
he  was  not  less  a  severe  judge  of  their  performance. 
He  was  very  shy  of  too  much  writing,  and  no  flux 
of  words  ever  concealed  from  his  sharp  intellect 
poverty  of  thought.  No  article  suited  him  which 
did  not  have  a  real  purpose,  and  was  not  written  in 
a  way  likely  to  promote  it. 

I  have  said  that  the  newspaper  office  itself  is 
the  best  school  of  journalism.  This  is  probably  the 
reason  why,  in  past  times,  practical  printers  have 
sometimes  made  such  good  editors.  They  had  mas- 
tered the  economy  of  the  whole  business.  They 
knew,  while  they  were  writing  it,  how  a  thing  would 
look  in  type.  Business  brought  them  into  constant 
association  with  men  of  all  classes  of  society.  The 
"art  preservative  of  all  arts,"  if  acquired,  was  in 
itself  a  liberal  education.  Whatever  happened  in 
the  world  at  large  was  brought  directly  to  their 
notice,  and  was  reproduced  for  the  reader,  partly 
through  the  medium  of  their  own  intelligence  and 
skill.  In  stormy  political  times  those  who  were 
fighting  the  battle  could  not  do  without  the  news- 
paper any  more  than  they  can  now.  The  printer 
became  an  important  person.  He  did  not  always, 
indeed,  not  often,  develop  into  a  famous  public 
character ;  but,  if  he  did  not  wear  a  sword  —  the 
sign  of  a  gentleman  —  by  his  side,  as  Guttenberg 


NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  325 

and  Faust  and  the  other  early  printers  did,  it  was 
because  everybody  had  given  up  such  mark  of  social 
distinction. 

There  are  many  things  which  it  behooves  a  jour- 
nalist to  know  which  can  hardly  be  learned  outside 
the  office  ;  but  there  is  much,  not  less  needful,  which 
may,  and  indeed  must  be,  acquired  beforehand.  If 
there  be  any  young  gentleman,  in  college  or  else- 
where, who  may  read  this  paper,  and  who  intends 
to  engage  in  the  profession  of  which  it  treats,  I 
would  fain  impress  upon  his  mind  the  necessity  of 
full  and  accurate  knowledge,  especially  of  American 
history.  At  nineteen,  it  is  easy  and  pleasant  to 
spend  one's  spare  time  in  the  desultory  reading  of 
novels,  of  poetry,  of  light  and  amusing  essays ;  it  is 
not  so  pleasant  afterward,  when  a  man  is  thrown 
upon  his  own  resources,  to  find  them  wofully  want- 
ing. I  ought  to  speak  knowingly  —  I  am  sure  that 
I  speak  feelingly  —  upon  this  point;  for,  put  to 
the  confession,  I  should  be  obliged  to  say  that  all 
my  life  I  have  been  trying,  and  trying  in  vain,  to 
make  up  for  lost  chances.  Only  the  other  day  I 
attended,  for  the  first  time  in  twenty  years,  a  college 
Commencement.  I  happened  to  go  into  the  room  of 
a  young  gentleman,  the  place  in  which  he  is  sup- 
posed to  be  preparing  for  the  serious  business  of 
life.  I  was  much  astonished  at  the  extreme  scanti- 
ness of  his  library ;  but  to  compensate  for  this  bibli- 
ographical paucity  he  had,  if  I  counted  rightly,  one 
pianoforte,  two  guitars,  and  a  banjo!  It  was  a 


326       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

pleasant  nook,  quiet,  cloistered,  and  shady ;  a  good 
library  was  at  hand ;  there  was  excellent  tuition  and 
perfect  leisure ;  all  the  rational  wants  of  life  sup- 
plied, no  carking  cares  to  molest,  no  divided 
duties  to  distract,  everything  to  make  toil  toler- 
able and  study  agreeable,  —  and  yet  my  young 
friend  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  my  remark  when 
I  said,  "Ah!  what  would  we  old  fellows  give  if  we 
could  now  have  four  years  of  study  in  this  pretty 
little  room,  without  grim  apprehension  to  molest  us, 
and  without  a  lurking  sense  of  impending  necessity 
to  make  us  afraid  !  "  I  could  not  ask  the  musically- 
minded  young  gentleman  if  he  was  preparing  for 
journalism,  for  that  might  have  smelt  of  the  shop ; 
but  I  felt  certain,  if  he  ever  was  enrolled  in  our 
office,  that  he  would  have  a  good  deal  to  learn  — 
and  to  unlearn. 

Life  is  a  lottery,  and  failure  in  any  undertaking 
is  doubtless  commoner  than  success.  But  the  dif- 
ference between  journalism  and  the  other  liberal 
professions  is,  that  in  the  former  a  slow  and  stupid 
man  is  distanced  from  the  first.  A  moderate 
clergyman  finds  a  moderate  congregation  well  enough 
pleased  with  his  moderate  sermons.  There  are  the 
petty  courts  and  the  minor  services  of  the  office  for 
the  small  lawyers.  There  are  people  who  will  be 
dosed  and  drenched  by  an  empiric  rather  than  not 
be  physicked  at  all.  But  a  quack,  a  bungler,  an  ig- 
noramus in  journalism  has  hardly  the  spectre  of  a 
chance ;  and  a  newspaper  which  can  employ  only 


NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  327 

an  incompetent  editor  wants  no  editor  at  all.  It 
rubs  along  in  a  happy-go-lucky  style,  and  does 
much  better  without  original  matter  than  it  would 
probably  do  with  a  plentiful  supply  of  it.  A  real 
newspaper,  full  to  repletion  of  the  very  latest  intel- 
ligence from  all  parts  of  the  earth ;  palpitating  with 
all  that  yesterday  stimulated  the  world  to  action,  or 
thrilled  the  heart  of  humanity  at  home  or  in  distant 
lands ;  telling  the  story  of  happiness  or  of  misery 
everywhere ;  speaking  of  that  which  will  hereafter 
make  millions  comfortable  or  wretched ;  discussing 
great  questions  of  public  policy  upon  which  the  fate 
of  nations  may  depend ;  saying  to  every  man  who 
may  look  into  it  precisely  what  he  may  want  to 
know ;  guiding  the  blind,  instructing  the  ignorant, 
and  helping  the  helpless ;  denouncing  wrong  and 
outrage,  falsehood  and  folly ;  giving  that  informa- 
tion without  which  the  most  careful  may  plunge 
into  quagmires  or  tumble  over  precipices ;  assisting 
the  possessor  of  thousands  to  become  possessor  of 
tens  of  thousands,  or  lifting  the  pauper  to  compe- 
tence, —  such  is  that  which  has  colored,  shaped,  and 
illustrated  this  nineteenth  century  —  such  is  the 
newspaper ! 

This  daily  miracle  is  worked  with  such  persistent 
uniformity  that  hackneyed  observers  have  come  to 
think  of  it  as  no  miracle  at  all.  Familiarity  does 
not  precisely  breed  contempt,  but  it  much  mitigates 
anything  like  profound  veneration.  It  must  be  an 
easy  matter,  men  say,  else  why  is  it  so  well  done  ? 


328       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

I  can  answer  the  question  briefly.  It  is  because 
clever  men  alone  are  employed  in  the  work,  and  the 
stupid  are  dismissed  from  it  the  instant  they  are 
weighed  and  found  wanting.  How  many  times  in 
a  year  a  stern  editor  has  to  say  "  No  ! "  I  could  make 
a  classification  from  my  own  observation  which 
would  be  as  full  of  ghosts  as  Ossian,  as  dreary  as 

's  last  elegy,  as  discouraging  as  destiny  itself. 

What  melancholy  stuff  has  been  brought  to  me  to 
publish,  with  the  suggestion  that  a  small  remunera- 
tion would  not  be  unpalatable  to  the  author,  as  if, 
small  or  large,  it  was  ever  unpalatable  to  anybody. 
There  was  the  widow  with  two  little  children,  whose 
verses  it  was  hard  to  decline;  there  was  the  poor 
girl  who  wanted  to  achieve  an  education,  but  who 
also  wanted  newspaper  employment  before  she  had 
achieved  it,  as  if  education  in  that  department  of 
labor  were  quite  unnecessary;  there  were  funny 
men,  the  most  dismal  of  all,  who  promised  me  irre- 
pressible vivacity  and  genuine  American  humor,  the 
only  thing  which  my  admirable  columns  lacked ;  there 
were  dreary  old  gentlemen,  who,  having  had  losses, 
proposed  to  make  them  up  by  furnishing  us  with 
articles  on  finance  —  and  very  odd  it  was  that  these 
should  always  be  upon  finance  ;  there  were  experts 
bristling  with  specialties,  dramatic,  musical, legal,  med- 
ical, meteorological,  —  and,  Heaven  help  them  !  they 
all  wanted  to  be  editors  or  sub-editors  or  managing 
editors  or  assistant  editors,  or  something  of  the 
kind.  One  mournful  similarity  I  noticed:  they 


NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  329 

were  all  egregiously  huffed  when  their  proposals 
were  not  eagerly  and  instantly  accepted.  Upon  my 
word,  I  do  not  know  any  memories  more  doleful 
aud  dumpish  than  those  which  I  have  of  this  mourn- 
ful train  of  aspirants  for  the  honors  and  emoluments 
of  journalism.  I  could  send  the  boys,  and  even  the 
girls,  about  their  business,  if  they  had  any,  without 
much  compunction ;  but  it  was  not  so  easy  to  dis- 
miss the  old,  the  needy,  the  gray-haired,  and  those 
who  had  failed  without  any  future. 

The  highest  prizes  in  the  competitions  of  journal- 
ism are  necessarily  few  :  the  neophyte  may  as  well 
understand  that  his  chances  of  becoming  a  great 
editor  are  not  much  better  than  that  of  his  becoming 
President  of  the  United  States,  or  Chief  Justice  of 
the  Supreme  Court.  It  is  quite  surprising  to  con- 
sider how  few  conductors  of  newspapers  achieve 
wide  reputation,  or  any  fame  which  promises  to  be 
permanent.  Not  many  of  those  who  have  made  a 
noise,  and  been  most  successful  in  journalism  in  this 
country,  are  still  remembered.  Franklin  himself  has 
other  monuments  and  a  closer  hold  upon  perennial 
fame  than  he  acquired  in  the  printing-house.  In 
Boston,  I  believe,  they  remember  no  old  editors  ex- 
cept Ben  Russell,  a  hero  of  the  Federal  and  Demo- 
cratic wars,  Joseph  T.  Buckingham,  who  was  honest 
and  with  a  way  of  freeing  his  mind  unmistakably 
in  excellent  English ;  and  may  be  Mr.  Nathan  Hale 
of  "The  Daily  Advertiser."  In  New  York  a  few 
ancient  readers  still  speak  of  Webb  and  Stone,  of 


330       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

King  and  Hale  ;  while  Greeley  and  Bennett  and 
Raymond  are  the  unforgotten  ones  of  the  profession. 
Of  Washington  editors,  Gales  and  Seaton  and  the  el- 
der Blair  are  remembered ;  but  who  knows  anything 
about  Duff  Green,  very  famous  in  his  day  ?  News- 
papers now  are  numerous  enough,  but  the  very  fact 
that  they  are  so  makes  distinction  all  the  more  dif- 
ficult. My  advice  to  my  young  friends  intending 
journalism  is  to  resolutely  banish  from  their  heads 
all  nonsense  about  becoming  celebrated.  Let  them 
be  content  with  distinction  in  the  office  in  which 
they  are  employed !  Let  them  be  renowned  within 
its  walls  for  industry  and  for  accuracy,  for  good  copy 
and  for  dexterity,  for  alacrity  and  a  cultivation  of 
the  amenities  of  life  !  Those  who  like  a  wider  ce- 
lebrity had  better  seek  it  in  some  other  field.  Let 
them  run  for  Congress,  or  engage  in  a  walking  match 
or  a  starving  match !  Let  them  make  a  heap  of 
money,  and  leave  it  to  a  library  or  a  hospital !  Let 
them  appropriate  a  handsome  amount  of  other  peo- 
ple's cash,  and  run  away  to  Europe !  Let  them 
write  books  good  enough  to  sell  or  bad  enough  to  be 
good!  There  are  a  hundred  ways  to  notoriety, 
which  some  call  fame,  and  even  to  genuine  fame  it- 
self; but  to  most  literary  men  who  engage  in  jour- 
nalism it  must,  in  addition  to  the  money  which  they 
earn,  be  its  own  exceeding  great  reward.  Xor  is 
there  any  reason  for  complaint.  The  majority  of 
mankind  do  no  better,  seldom  indeed  so  well. 

The  young  men  entering  the  profession  must  re- 


NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  331 

member  that  there  are  better  things  than  "broad 
rumor,"  or  "  the  glistering  foil  set  off  to  the  world." 
To  have  given  innocent  pleasure  ;  to  have  imparted 
valuable  instruction  ;  to  have  helped  others  even  in 
an  humble  way  to  think  correctly  and  to  act  rightly ; 
to  have  done  even  a  little  in  the  work  of  abolishing 
bad  institutions  and  of  creating  or  strengthening 
good  ones,  will  bring  consolation  when  the  shadows 
of  life  lengthen  in  a  westering  sun,  and  the  business 
of  existence,  its  toil,  its  triumph,  or  its  torment,  is 
pretty  well  over. 

Nor  is  the  incognito  of  editorial  writing  so  well 

O  O 

preserved  as  I  wish  that  it  was,  after  all.  I  can 
promise  young  writers,  if  they  do  anything  remark- 
able, that  they  will  be  found  out,  and  may  be  glor- 
ified much  more  than  will  be  good  for  their  tender 
constitutions.  I  like  the,  work  which  is  done  well 
for  the  sake  of  doing  it.  I  have  moved  about  so 
long  in  the  cloak  of  namelessness  that  I  have  been 
rather  shame-faced  about  putting  my  name  to  any- 
thing. Habit  is  second  nature,  and  one  who  has 
walked  always  in  the  shade  does  not  relish  an  ex- 
hibition of  himself  in  the  meridian  blaze.  But  for 
the  encouragement  of  young  journalists,  I  can  assure 
them  that  a  clever  workman  is  always  well  known 
in  the  profession,  and  can  usually  command  employ- 
ment. There  is  a  kind  of  freemasonry  in  the  call- 
ing. He  who  is  least  known  to  the  world  may  have 
a  great  celebrity  in  the  printing-offices,  where  a 
good  reputation  is  best  worth  having. 


332       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

Let  any  newspaper  writer  bring  care  and  charac- 
ter and  marked  individuality  to  his  work,  and  those 
who  persistently  read  the  whole  editorial  page  will 
soon  come  to  know  him  by  sight  or  by  sound,  if  I 
may  say  so,  if  not  by  his  name.  They  will  inquire 
after  him  with  a  natural  curiosity,  and  will  not  be 
put  off  without  personal  particulars.  Do  I  fall  into 
unpardonable  egotism  if  I  offer  an  illustration  from 
my  own  memory  ?  Here  before  me  is  a  letter  which 
I  once  received  from  a  woman  arid  widow  quite  un- 
known to  me,  written  with  charming  naivete,  and 
yet  with  perfect  dignity,  only  to  tell  me  how  much 
the  husband  whom  she  had  lost  liked  to  read  what 
I  wrote ;  how  he  read  it  to  her  sometimes  with 
tears,  sometimes  with  loud  laughter;  how  he  was 
glad  that  the  black  bondman,  for  whom  he  had  all 
his  life  himself  been  working,  thinking,  and  speak- 
ing, had  such  a  champion.  The  letter  is  a  little  yel- 
low now  with  age,  but  it  has  not  lost  a  particle  of 
the  costly  fragrance  of  sympathy  and  of  that  perfect 
good  breeding  which  comes  of  swift  and,  may  be,  of 
over-sufficient  gratitude.  Such  a  letter  was  worth 
much  more  than  a  year's  money  earnings  to  a  man 
who  never  thought  money  the  most  important  thing 
in  this  world  of  noble  chances  and  of  generous  oppor- 
tunities. Then,  too,  these  readers,  whom  it  will  be 
possible  for  the  young  journalist  in  time  to  secure, 
will  always  be  sending  to  the  office  recognition  of 
his  work,  all  unknown  though  he  may  be  to  them. 
"  Give  this,"  somebody  once  wrote  from  New  Hanip- 


•      NEWSPAPER  DIDACTICS.  333 

* 

shire,  "  to  the  author  of  the  article  on ."     It 

was  a  superb  eagle-feather,  and  I  found  it  on  my 
desk.  You  may  be  sure,  my  young  friend,  that  you 
will  get  your  little  rewards  as  you  go  along  !  But, 
.  above  all,  make  your  work  a  pleasure,  and  put  your 
time,  heart,  and  conscience  into  it.  Do  not  expect 
that  everybody  will  like  your  articles  as  well  as  you 
like  them  yourself.  That,  you  know,  would  hardly 
be  natural.  But  do  your  best  with  them ;  make 
them  honest  and  earnest ;  do  not  neglect,  if  you  can 
help  it,  that  touch  of  nature  which  makes  the  whole 
world  kin ;  and  you  may  be  sure,  though  you  may 
miss  wealth  and  fame  and  promotion  and  noisy 
plaudits,  you  will  not  want  for  readers,  which,  after 
all,  is  the  main  point,  is  it  not  ? 

One  thing  I  must  mention  in  conclusion.  For 
some  reason  or  other,  there  is  a  tendency  in  literary 
circles  to  depreciate  the  dignity  and  value  of  our 
calling;  and  with  this,  my  advice  to  the  young 
journalist  is  to  keep  no  terms.  Always  assert,  mod- 
estly but  firmly,  everywhere  and  upon  all  occasions, 
the  importance  and  the  usefulness  of  the  profession, 
and  do  not  allow  this  man  because  he  has  written  a 
book,  or  that  man  because  he  is  famous  in  politics, 
in  science,  or  in  anything  else,  to  speak  contemptu- 
ously of  our  guild.  Newspapers  are  no  longer  what 
they  were  in  my  youth ;  they  employ,  if  not  the 
best,  at  least  the  rarest  kind  of  intellectual  ability ; 
they  have  the  tastes,  the  progress,  and  the  peace  of 
society  much  in  their  keeping,  and  he  would  say  too 


334       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

much  who  should  say  that  they  are  false  to  their 
trust.  And  so,  with  this  admonition,  and  with  those 
which  I  have  before  given  of  careful  preparation,  of 
industry,  of  fidelity  and  truth,  I  conclude  with  a 
hundred  good  wishes  to  those  who  are  hoping  or  ex- 
pecting to  fill  the  places  which  all  my  dear  friends 
and  associates  must  sooner  or  later  leave  vacant. 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  335 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

NEWSPAPER  PERILS. 

BOHEMIANISM. — THE     PLEASURE    AND     THE     PENALTY.  —  THE 

KING  OF  THE  BOHEMIANS.  —  A  BRILLIANT  DRAMATIC  CRITIC. 
—  THREE  JOLLY  PAINTERS.  —  COMIC  NEWSPAPERS  AND 
THEIR  DOLEFUL  FATE.  —  A  PLENTY  OF  GOOD  ADVICE 
GRATIS. 

TOUENALISM  has  its  pleasures  and  pains.  Of 
*J  these  I  have  already  spoken.  But  it  has  also 
its  perils,  of  which  I  ought  to  say  something,  if  the 
profession  is  to  be  fully  discussed  in  these  pages.  I 
do  not  here  refer  to  the  enormous  risk  of  starting  a 
newspaper,  and  of  actually  putting  money  into  it. 
That  is  a  commercial  matter,  and  the  dangers  to 
which  I  allude  are  mainly  moral  or  intellectual. 
Every  reader  knows  that  the  literary  calling,  pur- 
sued for  the  sake  of  supplying  immediate  wants,  has 
always  been  likely  to  lead  men,  and  especially  young 
men,  into  temptation.  That  branch  of  literature 
which  we  call  journalism  is  far  from  affording  any 
exception  to  the  rule  —  indeed,  as  far  as  possible. 
I  have  no  notion  whatever  of  preaching  a  sermon ;  I 
am  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  do  that ;  but  there 
are  things  which  may  be  said  pleasantly  by  a  man 
of  experience  to  which  a  man  of  less  experience 


336       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

may  deign  to  listen  without  any  compromise  of  his 
dignity. 

Some  quarter  of  a  century  ago,  we  imported  from 
France,  among  other  things  which  we  could  well  do 
without,  what  is  called  Bohemianism.  A  Bohemian 
in  those  days  was  one  who  was  clever  in  writing 
smart  jokes  and  pretty  poems  and  lively  tales  and 
brisk  essays  and  other  newspaper  commodities  which 
perish  in  the  reading.  If  he  did  not  have  perma- 
nent employment,  and  generally  there  was  nothing 
permanent  about  him,  he  hawked  his  wares  from 
office  to  office,  and  sold  them  at  tragically  small 
prices,  subsequently  investing  the  amount,  it  was  ill- 
naturedly  declared,  in  a  great  deal  of  beer  and  a 
very  little  bread.  Sometimes  he  was  fantastic  in 
costume,  and  when  he  was  caricatured,  as  he  fre- 
quently was,  he  was  represented  in  a  tall  peaked 
hat,  not  unlike  those  which  were  once  worn  with 
velveteen  coats  by  brigands  in  the  melodramas. 
There  was  a  droll  picture  of  the  Tribune  office, 
out  of  every  window  of  which  a  man  in  one  of  these 
sugar-loaf  hats  was  depicted  peering  into  the  street 
in  search  of  a  paragraph.  It  was  a  vile  slander,  for 
we  had  no  more  of  these  hats  than  our  neighbors, 
and  as  little  Bohemianism,  or  what  the  sagacious 
public  understood  to  be  such,  as  any  similar  estab- 
lishment in  the  Square.  There  was  a  desperate  effort 
to  establish  the  Bohemian  guild  in  New  York,  but 
the  climate,  I  suppose,  was  unfavorable.  It  figured 
mostly  in  weekly  newspapers  which  are  dead  long 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  337 

ago,  while  the  performers  have  followed  their  works. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say,  however,  that  there  were  not 
many  excellent  fellows  and  men  of  rare  genius  en- 
rolled under  the  Bohemian  banner;  young  gentle- 
men were  there,  who  soon  found  that  such  way  of 
life  was  not  wise ;  poets  were  there,  who  have  since 
won  deserved  and  honorable  fame,  and  who  now  pre- 
side with  dignity  at  the  family  tea-table,  and  give 
good  advice,  with  the  morning  muffin,  to  their  well- 
grown  boys  and  girls.  Such  a  harum-scarum  life, 
such  listening  to  the  chimes  at  midnight,  and  utter 
disregard  of  the  conventionalities  and  respectabilities 
and  responsibilities,  generally  tests  a  man  pretty 
sharply.  If  he  really  has  brains,  he  usually  gets 
away  from  it  before  it  gets  away  with  him.  Vaga- 
bondizing loses  its  charm  at  last.  It  is  much  nicer, 
after  the  dews  of  existence  are  dried  up,  to  go  to 
bed  as  early  as  possible,  to  take  pains  with  one's 
stomach,  to  live  cleanly,  and  to  flee  from  the  cares 
of  life,  its  anxieties  and  its  disappointments,  to  any 
home,  however  humble. 

Those  who  did  not  desert  from  the  Bohemian 
ranks,  as  a  rule,  did  worse.  It  was  jolly  while  it 
lasted,  but  it  could  not  last.  There  were  a  good 
many  foolish  though  clever  young  men  —  I  mean 
tolerably  young  —  who  used  to  meet  every  night  in 
one  of  the  beer  vaults  of  a  well-known  establish- 
ment in  Broadway,  and  there,  with  much  consump- 
tion of  lager  and  much  smoking  of  pipes,  hold  high 
converse,  and  fancy  that  it  was  like  Auerbach's  cel- 
22 


338       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

lar  in  "Faust."  The  ceiling  was  low;  the  walls 
were  of  stone;  the  barrels  and  hogsheads  were 
ranged  about ;  and  indeed  it  was  all  quite  mediaeval 
and  gypsy-like  and  picturesque,  —  we  choice  spirits 
(in  the  flesh)  being  the  most  picturesque  of  all.  And 
I  have  heard  rather  good  talk  there  in  my  time.  It 
was  n't  all  pretence  and  playing  at  devil-may-care 
feeling  and  enjoyment,  after  all.  Sometimes,  we  were 
serious  enough,  especially  when  it  came  to  settling 
the  score  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

There  was  one  man  who  figured  at  these  subter- 
ranean symposia  who  was  known  in  New  York  as 
the  King  of  the  Bohemians,  —  a  man  whose  life  was 
so  entirely  illustrative  of  the  perils  which  beset  the 
career  of  a  journalist  that  I  venture  to  speak  of  him 
by  name.  I  have  the  less  scruple  in  doing  so,  be- 
cause he  was  perfectly  well  known  at  Paff's,  at  Del- 
monico's,  in  all  places  to  which  men  then  resorted 
for  social  converse  and  for  convivial  enjoyment.  Ev- 
erybody who  knew  anything  of  the  newspaper  busi- 
ness knew  Henry  Clapp.  I  was  associated  with  him 
before'  he  laughed,  and  made  puns,  and  wrote  light 
and  clever  articles  in  New  York.  I  doubt  if  he  could 
have  produced  an  autobiography  in  any  other  than  a 
merely  entertaining  way.  I  should  have  been  a  little 
doubtful  of  the  details ;  but  he  would  surely  have 
had  materials  enough  for  a  fascinating  book.  He 
was  born  in  Nantucket,  Massachusetts,  and  when  a 
mere  boy  made  a  voyage  in  a  brig  which  was  fitted 
out  by  Admiral  Sir  Isaac  Coffin,  of  the  British  Navy, 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  339 

for  the  express  pleasure  and  benefit  of  Nantucket 
boys,  Sir  Isaac  being  of  the  Coffin  family  which  was 
so  numerous  in  that  island.  Afterward  Mr.  Clapp 
was  a  merchant  of  oil  and  candles  in  Boston,  where 
he  was  eminently  respectable,  a  good  church-member, 
and  even  a  teacher,  I  believe,  in  a  Sunday-school. 
Then  he  wrent  to  New  Orleans  to  engage  in  the  same 
business.  For  some  reason  the  oil  and  candle  trade 
came  to  the  grief  of  insolvency.  After  that  the 
ready  man  made  his  first  essay  in  journalism  upon 
"  The  New  Bedford  Bulletin,"  a  newspaper  of  which 
I  was  the  editor.  I  found  him  not  without  value ; 
whatever  he  could  do  at  all  he  could  do  readily ;  his 
conversational  powers  were  uncommon :  and  so  he 
stayed  for  a  little  while  with  us,  and  then  suddenly 
went  into  the  business  of  lecturing  upon  temperance 
and  slavery,  setting  himself  up  as  a  great  reformer, 
and  a  radical  of  the  first  class.  Next,  he  edited  a 
newspaper  in  Lynn,  Massachusetts,  printed  by  a  rad- 
ical shoe-manufacturer.  Clapp  wrote  so  vigorously 
that  he  soon  found  himself  sentenced  to  imprison- 
ment for  thirty  days  for  the  offence  of  libelling  an 
obnoxious  justice  of  the  peace  who  bore  the  eupho- 
nious name  of  Aaron  Lumnus.  Coming  out,  he  was 
sent  as  delegate,  I  think,  to  some  World's  Temper- 
ance Convention,  or  World's  Antislavery  Convention, 
in  London.  Then  he  was  heard  of  in  Paris,  where 
he  did  some  work,  as  he  told  me,  for  one  of  the  Lon- 
don newspapers  as  a  correspondent.  Here  he  met 
Mr.  Greeley,  and  contracted  with  that  innocent  man 


340       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

for  letters  to  "  The  Tribune,"  receiving,  of  course,  a 
certain  money  amount  in  advance.  If  the  letters 
were  written  they  never  were  printed.  Pretty  soon 
he  was  back  again  in  New  York,  where  he  assisted 
Mr.  Brisbane  in  translating  the  works  of  Fourier. 
Until  ill  health  overtook  him,  he  was  indomitable. 
He  had  a  way  of  making  friends,  and  of  making  them, 
useful.  Without  one  farthing  of  capital  of  his  own 
he  set  up  a  newspaper  called  "  The  Saturday  Press," 
and  persuaded  somebody  to  put  money  into  it. 
When  the  money  was  gone  the  newspaper  stopped. 
He  was  ready  for  any  odd  job,  but  failed  in  getting 
steady  employment.  He  was  generous,  but  utterly 
thriftless,  and  naturally  wore  out  the  patience  of  his 
benefactors.  Darker  and  darker  grew  his  fortunes, 
and  when  they  were  at  the  darkest  he  died ;  but  not 
until  he  had  lost  the  faculty  of  rapid  and  clever  work. 
The  pleasant  though  shifty  life,  the  merry  nights 
with  congenial  companions,  the  courage  which  would 
not  accept  defeat  as  final,  the  swift  expedients  and 
handy  devices,  ended  in  tragedy  at  last.  All  that 
was  left  of  him  was  sent  back  to  the  quiet  island  in 
which  his  happier  days  were  spent.  So  passed  from 
his  dubious  dominions  the  King  of  the  Bohemians ! 
I  have  told  this  story  in  no  spirit  of  puritanical 
censoriousness,  and  with  only  feelings  of  regretful 
affection.  If  it  is  for  sympathetic  recollection,  it  is 
also  for  warning.  Who,  if  he  could  foresee  it,  would 
care  to  live  such  a  life,  or  die  such  a  death  ?  Bril- 
liancy is  all  well  enough ;  those  talents  are  not  to 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  341 

be  despised  which  attract  friends  and  give  a  light 
and  evanescent  pleasure ;  the  delights  of  the  senses 
are  tempting  so  long  as  they  last :  but  when  one's 
head  has  grown  gray,  and  one's  natural  ardor  has 
abated ;  when  a  bitter  suspicion  begins  to  dawn  upon 
the  mind  that  the  way  of  life  has  been  foolish; 
when  the  opportunities  of  work  have  become  fewer, 
and  the  ability  to  do  it  well  much  smaller,  a  man  of 
genius  may  envy  those  duller  spirits  who  have  not 
despised  a  homely  prudence,  and  to  whom  the  hum- 
drum performance  of  duty,  however  humble,  has 
brought  a  little  competence  and  a  freedom  from 
daily  apprehension.  Better  is  it  to  make  catalogues 
and  indexes,  to  write  primers  for  children  and  his- 
tories for  school-girls,  to  pass  life  in  perpetual  com- 
pilation or  endless  proof-reading,  than  to  win  a  little 
temporary  notoriety  by  tickling  the  fancy  of  an  in- 
constant public,  than  to  try  to  live  upon  what  one 
has  done  after  ceasing  to  do  anything,  as  a  charlatan 
starving  himself  for  a  show  exists  upon  the  tissues 
which  meals  long  before  digested  have  given  him. 

Yet  those  were  pleasant  nights  in  the  old  cellar, 
after  all,  when  the  last  novel  was  discussed,  the  last 
new  play  anatomized ;  and  the  fun  sometimes,  but 
not  often,  became  fast  and  furious.  Poor  Wilkins, 
now  dead,  like  the  rest,  would  drop  in,  with  the  fresh- 
est intelligence  from  the  theatre,  or  would  tell  us 
something  of  the  drama  which  lie  was  engaged  in 
writing.  Now  and  then  he  would  take  us  round  to 
his  own  room,  which  was  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 


342       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

borhood, —  a  wondrous  place  as  I  remember  it;  full, 
it  seemed,  chiefly  of  pipes  and  empty  beer-bottles, 
and  bottles  which  we  were  invited  at  once  to  empty ; 
with  the  walls  covered  with  prints  of  all  sizes  arid 
descriptions  ;  and  with  books  heaped  about  as  if  they 
had  been  shot  there  from  a  cart  and  were  still  where 
perchance  they  had  fallen.  Singularly  enough,  there 
was  a  bed  in  one  corner  of  this  retreat,  but  I  could 
hardly  imagine  my  friend  going  into  it.  At  any  rate, 
he  invariably  refused  to  seek  it  so  long  as  anybody 
could  be  persuaded  to  stay  and  chat  with  him  and 
smoke  with  him,  and  listen  to  his  light,  salient,  and 
sarcastic  talk  of  men,  of  manners,  of  literature,  and 
especially  of  the  drama.  Sometimes  I  have  thought 
that,  rather  than  not  talk  at  all,  after  we  had  gone, 
he  would  lapse  into  one  long  soliloquy,  or  address 
his  clever  observations  to  the  stove  or  the  bed-post, 
or  to  the  pictured  ladies  in  the  light  drapery  of  the 
ballet,  who  smirked  out  of  the  dingy  frames.  To  the 
genial  and  clever  man  death,  as  I  have  said,  soon 
came ;  and  toil  and  pleasure  alike  being  over,  he  took 
his  rest  by  night  and  by  day,  with  no  more  comedies 
to  write  or  to  criticise. 

Perhaps  for  some  men  a  quiet,  domestic,  house- 
keeping life  has  small  attractions.  They  either  nat- 
urally like  the  uncertainty,  the  variations  between 
plenty  and  penury,  and  the  stimulus  of  want  which 
puts  them  upon  their  mettle ;  or  else,  through  habit, 
they  have  grown  to  like  it.  Once  I  heard  three 
young  painters  blithely  discussing  the  prospect  of 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  343 

breakfast  in  the  studio  of  one  of  them.  They  could 
not  eat  the  dusty  plaster  cast  of  the  Farnese  Her- 
cules, they  could  not  assuage  the  keen  demands  of 
appetite  by  devouring  paint,  and,  though  boys  enough 
to  have  good  stomachs,  it  never  occurred  to  them  to 
draw  lots  and  to  say,  "  We  must  eat  we,"  like  ship- 
wrecked mariners  in  Mr.  Thackeray's  mournful  bal- 
lad. At  last  one  remembered  that  he  had  half  a 
bottle  of  claret  in  his  room,  another  that  he  had  a 
shilling  in  his  pocket,  which  would  buy  bread;  and 
so  a  light  but  sufficient  banquet  was  extemporized 
with  much  cheerful  talk  and  happy  laughter.  I  fear 
that  I  shall  injure  the  moral  of  my  story  if  I  say 
that  there  was  a  plenty  of  tobacco  and  no  end  of 
pipes.  But  this  narcotic  is  useful  after  a  slender  re- 
past, and  I  am  bound  to  remark  that  it  was,  as  the 
doctors  say,  "  exhibited,"  and  that  it  helped  the  talk 
amazingly.  Ah !  the  happy,  indomitable  heart  of 
youth,  why  can  it  not  always  stay  with  us  ?  Why 
cannot  we  keep  it  for  the  days  in  which  we  shall 
need  it  most,  so  that  we  should  not  so  often  and  so 
sadly  be  obliged  to  admit  that  we  have  no  pleasure 
in  them  ?  Why  should  we  be  doomed  to  wisdom 
without  the  force  to  employ  it,  and  to  knowledge, 
which  the  hand  is  too  tremulous  to  record  ?  It  is 
Coleridge,  I  think,  who  says  finely  that  experience 
is  like  the  stern-lights  of  a  ship,  which  illuminate 
only  the  waves  which  have  been  passed  over,  and 
'not  the  wastes  which  are  before.  But  these  are 
doleful  reflections.  Let  us  pass  to  merrier  matters ! 


344       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

A  good  comic  newspaper,  with  a  plenty  of  money 
in  the  treasury,  would  be  a  great  godsend  to  Bohe- 
mia, while  the  money  lasted.  I  have  known  some- 
thing of  several  of  the  fanny  newspapers  which  in 
past  days  have  been  started  but  not  established  in 
New  York,  and  the  memories  thereof  are  drearily 
elegiac.  These  sheets  have  been  good,  bad,  and  in- 
different, but  a  common  fatality  has  overtaken  them. 
In  this  world  of  folly  and  absurdity,  droll  or  satirical 
writing  ought  not  to  be  difficult,  yet  I  believe  that 
editors  find  it  the  most  difficult  thing  to  secure. 
We  Americans  have  been  given  up  to  believe  that 
the  pun  is  the  best  form  of  humor,  whereas  it  is  a 
radically  bad  one.  Used  habitually,  its  tendency  is 
to  degenerate  into  absurdity  and  inexpressible  fool- 
ishness. Any  cobbler  can  make  a  good  pun  ;  but  to 
take  up  a  topic,  to  toss  it  merrily  from  hand  to  hand, 
to  dandle  and  cuff  it,  and  present  it  under  a  dozen 
ridiculous  aspects,  to  make  it  amusing  in  spite  of  its 
inherent  gravity,  and  generally  to  get  out  of  it  what- 
ever fun  it  is  capable  of  yielding,  —  a  man  must  have 
a  natural  talent  for  this,  or  he  cannot  do  it  at  all. 
All  the  managers  of  comic  newspapers  with  whom  I 
have  been  acquainted  howled  for  contributors  of  real 
merit,  and  usually  howled  in  vain.  The  literary  fel- 
lows brought  little  which  even  Democritus  himself 
could  have  smiled  at.  There  was  always  a  tendency 
to  glide  into  pathos,  or  to  lapse  into  ferocious  indig- 
nation. How  any  man  could  have  supposed  that  a 
daily  comic  newspaper  could  be  written,  much  less 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  345 

sold,  in  New  York,  passes  my  comprehension ;  yet 
this  was  what  was  undertaken,  about  tw.enty  years 
ago,  by  Mr.  Addie,  an  Englishman  who  had  been 
brought  up  in.  Moxon's  bookshop  in  London.  I 
wrote  an  introductory  poem  for  "  Momus,"  as  the 
journal  was  called,  which  perhaps  helped  to  kill  it, 
for  it  only  lived  about  a  week.  There  was  not  much 
that  was  good  about  "  Momus "  except  the  name, 
which  I  think  a  fine  one.  Then  came  "  Vanity  Fair." 
Poor  Mr.  Stevens,  the  proprietor,  used  to  ask  me, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  if  I  did  not  know  some  clever 
young  fellows  who  would  write  for  him ;  and  I  used 
to  answer,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  that  I  did  not. 
And  yet  he  had  the  pick  of  whatever  was  to  be  had 
in  New  York  at  that  time,  including  several  lads 
who  have  since  made  their  mark,  though  not  in  the 
comic  business.  One  of  the  most  dreadful  of  demises 
was  that  of  "Mrs.  Grundy,"  which  should  have 
lasted  longer  with  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Charles  Daw- 
son  Shanly  at  its  head.  I  ought  to  mention  to  their 
credit,  that,  though  all  the  comic  newspapers  with 
which  I  have  been  connected  have  fallen  into  insol- 
vency, I  have  invariably  been  paid  every  dollar 
which  was  due  me;  which  shows  perhaps  that  fun 
and  a  keen  sense  of  financial  obligations  are  not 
incompatible.  I  think  one  mistake  which  most  of 
the  projectors  of  these  lamentable  speculations  made 
was  that  they  followed  "  Punch  "  too  closely  in  fix- 
ing the  physiognomy  of  their  journals.  The  titles, 
the  size,  the  type,  the  make-up,  and  the  cartoon 


346       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

have  been  as  nearly  like  those  of  the  London  droll 
as  possible.  This  doubtless  cost  our  sheets  an  air 
of  originality ;  nor  do  I  think  that  imitations  of  the 
best  things  are  likely  to  be  successful.  "  Punch  " 
has  lived  and  flourished  because  he  is  British  in 
every  fibre  of  his  crooked  constitution.  When  we 
have  a  comic  newspaper  which  in  its  way  is  just  as 
essentially  American,  perhaps  its  early  funeral  will 
not  be  predestinate.  But  I  do  not  look  for  it  im- 
mediately. 

The  incoming  generation  of  journalists  will  have 
much  greater  chances  of  doing  valuable  and  success- 
ful work  than  that  which  is  about  to  take  its  leave 
of  life.  Every  day  the  newspaper  is  becoming 
more  important  to  the  happiness,  the  comfort,  the 
convenience,  and  the  progress  of  the  world.  The 
Bohemian  element  of  journalism,  though  it  may 
still  linger  in  certain  newspaper  offices,  is  now  no 
more  tolerated  in  those  which  are  carefully  managed, 
—  no  more,  in  fact,  than  it  would  be  in  the  oldest 
and  most  solemnly  respectable  banking-house  in 
Wall  Street.  Order,  system,  punctuality,  industry 
are  now  looked  for  quite  as  much  as  brilliant  ability 
and  a  ready  pen.  The  different  departments  of  duty 
are  well  defined,  and  there  is  no  longer  much  oppor- 
tunity for  the  man  who  plumes  himself  upon  doing 
one  thing  as  well  as  another.  In  writing  this  chap- 
ter I  have  kept  in  mind  those  shoals  and  quicksands 
which  beginners  in  the  profession  will  do  well  care- 
fully to  avoid.  I  do  not  suppose  that  they  will  be 


NEWSPAPER  PERILS.  347 

very  grateful  to  me ;  and,  no  doubt,  many  of  the 
very  youngest  of  them  know  much  more  about  the 
whole  matter  than  I  do ;  and  as  there  is  no  statute 
against  their  availing  themselves  at  once  of  their 
knowledge,  my  advice  to  them  is  to  secure  instantly 
the  highest  positions,  at  the  largest  salaries,  and  to 
keep  those  lofty  places  if  they  can. 

It  is  with  journalism  as  with  every  other  depart- 
ment of  human  enterprise  and  energy.  Brains  are 
not  quite  enough,  albeit  they  are  eminently  desir- 
able. Literary  resources  are  not  all-sufficient,  al- 
though they  may  be  many  and  various.  It  may 
happen,  in  the  race  for  newspaper  success,  that  the 
tortoise  will  beat  the  hare.  Most  people  when  they 
get  old  are  likely  with  a  sigh  to  say,  "  If  I  had 
done  so  and  so,  and  had  not  done  so  and  so,  I  should 
now  have  money,  fame,  competence,  serenity  of 
mind."  Well,  perhaps,  and  perhaps  not.  Who 
knows  ?  One  may  be  sure,  however,  of  the  day 
which  is  passing,  or  of  the  night  in  which  he  com- 
piles, arranges,  makes  all  manner  of  manuscript 
under  the  midnight  gas,  and  wins  the  right  to  slum- 
ber until  the  next  day's  noon.  This  is  about  all 
which  any  man  in  any  field  of  labor  can  be  certain 
of.  And  if  he  be  true  and  faithful,  day  by  day 
and  hour  by  hour,  he  need  not  fear  to  see  the  last 
light  of  life  extinguished,  and  may  look  with  con- 
fidence for  the  first  gleam  of  the  eternal  sunrise. 


348       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A   GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS. 

THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  —  THE  AUTHOR  OF 
"OLD  GRIMES."  —  MR.  KETTELL'S  "SPECIMENS."  —  THE 
ASPIRATIONS  OF  BOYHOOD.  —  MR.  N.  P.  WILLIS.  —  EARLY 
AMERICAN  BOOK  MANUFACTURE.  —  A  STORY  WITH  A  MORAL. 


are  people  whom  one  lias  just  seen,  — 
-L  tantum  Virgilium  vidi,  —  and  who  glance 
athwart  the  memory  in  no  very  imposing  way.  I 
fell  into  a  kind  of  dream,  as  I  took  my  pen  in  my 
hand  for  this  chapter,  and  I  could  not  help  thinking 
of  those  who  were  the  fore'most  lights  of  American 
literature  so  many  years  ago.  Does  the  reader  re- 
member what  a  number  of  poets  we  had  in  those 
times  ?  Nobody  need  be  afraid  that  I  intend  to 
make  out  a  directory,  a  catalogue  raisonntf  of  them, 
for  that  would  be  too  bad  altogether.  It  is  depress- 
ing to  consider  how  they  came  up,  and  twittered 
and  chirped  as  confidently  as  the  city  sparrows  who 
spoil  our  supplementary  daylight  slumbers.  I  saw 
some  of  these  characters  in  my  morning  days  ;  but, 
upon  my  word,  I  am  quite  ashamed  to  introduce 
them  to  the  present  company.  Possibly  they  were 
as  original  and  clever,  as  harmonious  and  inspired, 
as  many  whom  we  now  take  approvingly  to  our 


A   GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS.  349 

hearts ;  but  I  fear  that  they  would  seem  dreadfully 
old-fashioned  to  the  devotees  of  our  modern  maga- 
zine lyrics.  This  I  will  say  for  them,  that  they 
were  sadly  misled  by  a  superfluity  of  applause.  We 
were  then  so  willing  to  be  pleased.  We  never 
minded  that  it  was  all  a  faint  echo  of  this  English 
poet  or  the  other,  —  of  Pope,  of  Cowper,  or  of  Byron. 
Long  before  we  were  rid  of  the  incumbrance  of  his 
Majesty,  George  the  Third,  our  bards  began  to 
versify.  I  say  frankly  that  all  before  the  beginning 
of  the  nineteenth  century  seems  to  be  nearly  worth- 
less ;  but  for  two  or  three  names,  it  was  worthless 
afterwards.  I  ought  to  know,  because  among  the 
foibles  with  which  I  have  sought  to  divert  the 
tedium  of  life  has  been  that  of  making  a  complete 
collection  of  American  poets.  Upon  my  shelves 
to-day  there  is  a  disheartening  lot  of  literary  lumber 
which  anybody  may  take  down  and  carry  off  without 
protest  from  myself.  It  is  all  at  the  service  of  the 
paper-maker  who  thinks  that  it  is  worth  cartage. 
There  was  nothing  in  the  least  original  in  this 
notion  of  mine  of  picking  up  metrical  nobodies. 
Another  gentleman  with  an  equally  soft  heart  had 
done  it  before  me.  This  was  Mr.  Albert  G.  Green, 
an  amiable  man  of  letters  in  Providence,  Rhode 
Island,  who  swooped  in  an  enormous  amount  of  the 
same  sort  of  trash,  including  a  thin  volume  of  thin- 
ner poems,  which  I  was  ass  enough  to  print  in  my 
infancy.  Pray  what  should  a  man  write  reminis- 
cences for  unless  it  be  to  confess  his  sins  and 


350       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

juvenile  lyrical  iniquities  ?  Let  the  reader  make 
note  that,  thanks  to  a  benevolent  destiny,  which 
has  taken  better  care  of  me  than  I  have  taken  of 
myself,  this  volume  of  mine  is  among  the  very 
scarcest  books  in  the  English  language.  My  excel- 
lent friend,  Mr.  Phles,  has  a  copy,  which  I  have 
put  him  upon  oath  not  to  sell  unless  he  sells  it  to 
me,  when  most  assuredly  it  will  be  destroyed  by 
fire  or  by  fragmentary  disintegration. 

As  we  are  gossiping  in  this  number  without  much 
restraint,  and  with  a  rather  liberal  cMrrente-calamosity 

—  this  phrase  belongs  to  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  of  whom 
I  shall  have   something  to  say  presently,  —  there 
can  be  no  harm  in  speaking  of  Mr.  Albert  G.  Green 
above-mentioned.     What  did  he  do  ?     I  hear  the 
ill-informed  reader  asking  that  question,  which  I  at 
once  answer  triumphantly.    He  wrote  "Old  Grimes," 

—  that  little  felicity  of  a  poem  which  got  a  grip 
upon  the  memories  of  a  generation.    Children  recited 
of  the  good  old  man,  and  how  he  "  wore  not  rights 
and  lefts  for  shoes,  but  changed   his  every  day." 
School-boys  declaimed  the  piece,  and  waved  their 
hands  in  front  of  their  waistcoats  when  they  an- 
nounced  that   his    coat  was  "  all  buttoned   down 
before."      There  was  nothing  specially  original  in 
this  small  epic ;  but  somehow  it  had  an  immense 
success.    That  kind  of  verse  was  devised  long  before 
at  the  French  court,  and  was  copied  by  Goldsmith 
in  his  "  Elegy  on  the  Death  of  Madame  Blaise," 
and  that  other  little  piece  ending  with  "  the  dog  it 


A    GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS. 

was  that  died."  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr. 
Green  occasionally,  and  have  now  this  later  pleasure 
of  remembering  him  as  an  agreeable  talker  and 
most  amiable  man.  Can  anybody  tell  me  why  such 
clever  persons  as  he  was  do  not  get  on  ?  They  throw 
out  a  fine  thing  or  two,  and  then  they  subside  into 
silence.  I  have  struggled  through  all  this  series 
against  the  temptation  of  putting  people  into  them 
who  were  never  heard  of  at  all.  I  know  nothing 
like  the  fine  genius  which  writes  no  books,  chal- 
lenges no  observation,  cares  not  a  farthing  for  fame, 
but  still  goes  on  dreaming  much  and  doing  nothing, 
taking  down  the  folios  and  putting  them  back  in  a 
listless  way,  and  while  celebrity  is  within  its  grasp 
not  deigning  to  grasp  it.  The  verdict  of  the  world 
is  "  laziness,"  but  the  world  knows  nothing  of  that 
other  verdict  which  fancy  or  imagination,  which 
delicate  taste  or  delightful  thought,  passes  upon  itself. 
Doubtless  Mr.  Green  might  have  written  a  long 
poem  or  fifty  short  ones,  only  he  did  not  please  to 
do  it.  To  inquire  into  his  reasons,  or  those  of  any 
man  who  sees  fit  to  keep  himself  to  himself,  is  some- 
thing like  impertinence. 

Sometimes  I  have  a  great  mind  to  make  a  book 
about  the  nobodies:  only  this  passion  for  making 
books  which  could  not  possibly  find  a  publisher 
should  be  kept  well  under.  There  was  no  end  of 
nobodies,  I  recollect,  in  the  catalogue  of  Mr.  Green's 
library  when  it  came  to  the  hammer.  It  seems  to 
have  been  a  kind  of  American  Foundling  Hospital 


352      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

of  Wit.  But  forty  or  fifty  years  ago  Mr.  Kettell 
had  got  together  three  thick  volumes  of  "  Specimens." 
This  editor  was  understood  to  be  a  most  fastidious 
person.  In  my  own  time,  he  was  still  managing 
"  The  Boston  Courier  " ;  and  as  I  did  not  happen  to 
agree  with  him  in  politics,  he  was  accustomed  to 
comment  rather  savagely  upon  my  own  newspaper 
productions.  I  might  have  retorted  most  unanswer- 
ably by  pointing  to  his  own  compilation,  and  by 
reminding  him  that  poor  William  J.  Snelling  had 
dubbed  him  "  Dunce  Kettell "  in  that  satire  called 
"  Truth  :  A  New-Year's  Gift  for  Scribblers,"  -which 
made  some  noise  in  its  time.  Snelling  fell  afoul  of 
everybody,  and  everybody  of  whom  he  fell  afoul  is 
by  this  time  forgotten,  —  Mellen  and  McLellan, 
Dawes  and  Smith,  Jones  and  Thompson ;  and  so, 
for  that  matter,  is  poor  Mr.  Snelling,  who  could 
take  care  of  everything  except  his  own  affairs,  and 
of  all  mankind  except  himself.  He  was  an  excellent 
specimen  of  the  literary  workman  who  has  brains 
and  hand,  cleverness  and  power  of  application, — 
everything  to  make  the  voyage  of  life  prosperous 
except  a  rudder.  He  died  long  before  he  was  fifty ; 
and  all  his  West  Point  education,  and  all  his  writing 
by  day  and  by  night  for  twenty  years,  gave  him 
was  fourteen  lines  in  an  encyclopaedia. 

I  permitted  myself  in  my  last  chapter  to  say  a 
word  to  those  who  yearn  for  a  position  in  journal- 
ism. I  ought  to  have  remembered  all  those  others 
who,  while  the  dews  of  youth  are  upon  their  heads, 


A    GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS.  353 

aspire  to  write  books.  I  think  with  great  tender- 
ness of  the  many  to  whom,  as  their  sun  rises,  the 
field  of  literature  appears  a  fresh  one,  where  nobody 
has  been  before  them,  and  where  they  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  sow,  to  water,  and  to  reap,  —  or  where 
so  many  fine  spirits  have  preceded  them,  whom  they 
think  to  equal  or  even  to  surpass.  From  eighteen 
to  twenty-one  what  dreams  -are  dreamed,  and  what 
splendid  anticipations  come  to  gild  all  the  early 
scene!  Epics,  novels,  histories,  studies  in  philos- 
ophy, —  what  a  chance  there  seems  to  be  !  These 
poor  lyrics  even,  —  who  knows  but  a  publisher  will 
be  found  for  them,  and  possibly  a  little  money,  which, 
after  all,  is  convenient  from  day  to  day  ?  Every- 
body of  literary  propensities  passes  through  the 
ordeal,  and  only  emerges  from  it  after  a  gloomy  ex- 
perience. Yet  here  let  me  speak  kindly  of  these 
visionary  hours,  which  do  not  come  twice  in  a  life- 
time. There  is  such  trust  then,  and  hope  and  con- 
fidence and  candor  !  I  would  n't  say  a  word  about 
it  all,  only  I  know  that  there  are  so  many  young 
folks,  lads,  and  even  lasses,  who  are  passing  through 
the  same  delight  or  despair,  and  who  would  so  like 
to  produce  a  book.  They  are  in  the  storm  and 
stress  period,  which  Goethe  did  not  escape.  They 
demand  recognition,  having  naught  whereby  to  be 
recognized.  There  is  nothing  sadder  than  this 
floundering  about  and  feeling  for  one's  feet  in  the 
welter  of  literature,  and  the  deep  Byronian  sadness 
because  bottom  and  firm  footing  cannot  be  found. 
23 


354       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

The  people  who  write  now  for  the  magazines  do 
not  know  what  a  hard  time  we  had  of  it  once. 
There  was  nothing  for  a  lad  given  to  literature  to 
do,  but  to  go  about  in  shabby  clothes,  to  live  upon 
his  father  or  his  friends,  to  be  considered  an  idiot 
or  a  maniac,  and  to  exhaust  utterly  everybody's 
patience.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  a  few  did  not 
meet  with  tolerable  success ;  but  they  were  excep- 
tions, and  one  such,  brilliant  in  its  day,  I  recall. 

I  do  not  think  of  any  man  so  well  known  in  his 
time,  and  now  so  utterly  forgotten,  as  Mr.  N.  P. 
Willis.  He  comes  naturally  into  these  recollections 
because,  one  fine  summer  morning,  when,  with  a 
sore  heart,  I  was  doing  scrivener's  work  in  a  regis- 
try of  deeds,  I  saw  him  slowly  pacing,  with  a  Pail- 
Mall  manner,  under  the  great  elms  upon  the  other 
side  of  the  street.  He  had  corne  to  New  Bedford  to 
be  married  to  the  adopted  daughter  of  one  of  its 
most  distinguished  citizens,  the  Hon.  Joseph  Grin- 
nell,  who  was  in  the  Twenty-eighth,  the  Twenty- 
ninth,  the  Thirtieth,  and  the  Thirty-first  Congresses. 
Mr.  Griunell  was  of  the  same  family  which,  not 
many  years  ago,  was  distinguished  in  the  commer- 
cial and  political  circles  of  New  York ;  but  he  was 
himself  distinguished  at  Washington  for  his  fidelity 
to  the  duties  of  his  position,  for  his  admirable  grasp 
of  all  financial  questions,  and  for  an  integrity  of 
which  nobody  ever  dared  to  express  a 'doubt.  They 
used  to  call  him  the  Deacon  in  Washington  —  I 
wish  there  were  more  members  there  now,  worthy 


A    GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS.  355 

to  be  included  in  such  diaconate.  He  had  his  dis- 
trict in  his  hand,  and  went  back  to  the  capitol  just 
as  long  as  he  pleased  to  go.  It  was  a  famous 
district,  that  sandy,  whaling,  fishing  shore  of  the 
Atlantic  Ocean  !  When  it  found  a  good  member,  it 
stood  by  him  nobly.  It  sent  old  John  Eeed  steadily 
from  1821  to  1841  to  Washington  to  look  out  for 
its  interests.  He  might  have  gone  longer,  only  the 
Whigs  wanted  him,  in  a  moment  of  emergency,  as  a 
candidate  for  lieutenant-governor.  Governor  Briggs, 
of  Berkshire  County,  was  the  candidate  for  gover- 
nor ;  and  somebody  said,  felicitously,  in  the  conven- 
tion, "  We  will  give  them  codfish  and  potatoes ! " 
And  we  did  it.  The  man  of  potatoes  — -  he  had  been 
a  hatter  when  young  —  was  our  governor  for  six 
years,  and  he  had  plain  John  Eeed  for  his  lieuten- 
ant all  that  time.  I  wish  that  somebody  could  tell 
me  why  the  people  now-a-days  get  so  much  sooner 
tired  of  their  servants.  Public  men  do  not  seem  to 
be  re-elected  over  and  over  again  as  they  used  to 
be.  Political  life  is  growing  shorter  and  shorter. 
The  voters  may  trust  as  implicitly,  but  they  get 
weary  of  names  and  persons  more  swiftly.  Is  it 
because  the  offices  are  so  few  compared  with  the 
crowd  which  desires  them  ?  Sometimes  I  look 
down  upon  the  great  shouldering,  elbowing,  wrig- 
gling host  of  those  who  have  been  elected  or  ap- 

O          O  % 

pointed,  or  who  want  to  be,  and  I  can  think  of 
nothing  but  Thomas  Carlyle's  "  pot  of  vipers."  Pray 
let  nobody  believe  that  I  mean  any  disrespect.  No 


356       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

one  lifts  his  hat  higher  than  I  do  to  the  man  who,  by 
courtesy,  is  called  Honorable.  Eather  more,  even, 
than  the  man  who  is  elected  after  a  heady  fight,  do 
I  reverence  the  other  person  who  is  not.  His  merits 
may  have  been  quite  equal  to  those  which  secured 
success.  He  may  have  been  merely  the  victim  of  a 
rainy  day,  or  a  badly-watched  ballot-box ;  of  chance, 
of  mischance,  or  of  mismanagement.  But,  at  least, 
in  the  old  times,  if  he  got  in,  he  was  apt  to  stay  in. 
Possession  was  nine  points  of  the  law,  and  one 
over.  That  was  the  happy  fortune  of  honest  John 
Eeed  in  our  codfish  district ;  and  his  father,  another 
John  Eeed,  had  the  seat  before  him.  They  used  to 
speak  of  the  last  John  as  "  the  life  member."  Those 
two  together  were  in  Washington  as  the  Cape  Cod 
representative  for  twenty-four  years.  I  have  a 
pleasant  recollection  of  John  the  Younger.  When 
he  was  lieutenant-governor  of  Massachusetts,  and 
had  the  executive  clemency  in  his  hands,  he  par- 
doned for  me  a  great  scoundrel  who  was  my  client ; 
for  I  was  then  in  the  law.  He  was  a  fine,  old- 
fashioned  man,  dressed  in  honest  black,  and  with  a 
large  ruffle  to  his  shirt.  Perhaps  it  would  have  a 
good  moral  effect  if  we  could  have  shirt-ruffles  (and 
the  appropriate  snuff-boxes)  restored.  Possibly 
these  had  something  to  do  with  gentlemanly  man- 
ners, which  really  are  not  so  common  as  they  once 
were. 

And,  speaking  of  gentlemanly  manners,  I  am  re- 
minded of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  whom  I  left  strolling  up 


A    GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS.  357 

the  street  in  our  old  town.  He  deserves  mention  here, 
not  as  a  poet,  though  some  of  his  poetry  was  clever, 
but  as  a  journalist,  and  a  good  one.  He  has  shared 
the  fate  of  all  who  give  their  time  and  talents  and 
strength  to  newspapers ;  there  is  all  the  more  reason 
why  here  he  should  be  freshly  remembered.  He  never 
had  anything  to  do  with  politics :  probably  he  did 
not  know  much  about  them ;  but  his  editorial  work 
in  "The  Mirror,"  in  "The  New  Mirror,"  in  "The 
Corsair,"  and  in  "  The  Home  Journal,"  did  a  good 
deal  to  correct  the  somewhat  savage  and  coarse 
style  of  the  prevailing  journalism  of  the  period.  If 
the  matter  of  his  articles  had  been  as  good  as  the 
manner,  and  if  he  had  not  principally  confined  him- 
self to  evanescent  topics,  he  would  have  made  a 
fame  equal  to  that  of  Addison  or  of  Washington 
Irving.  But  he  would  write  —  in  English  which 
to-day  I  still  think  to  be  exquisite  —  about  hats 
and  coats,  parties  and  receptions,  and  all  manner  of 
fashionable  tweedledum  and  tweedledee.  He  was 
intensely  egotistical,  but  then  it  was  always  in  a 
graceful  and  well-bred  way.  He  was  unmistakably 
foppish  in  his  work ;  but  somehow  you  could  not 
help  feeling  that  there  was  a  degree  of  manliness 
under  it  all,  and  here  and  there  a  great  cropping  out 
of  common  sense.  Mr.  Willis  had  in  a  large  meas- 
ure that  best  faculty  of  a  journalist :  he  knew  what 
people  would  like  to  read.  The  letters  which  he 
sent  to  his  different  newspapers  from  Europe  might 
be  a  little  airy  and  self-sufficient ;  but  he  described 


358       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

people  in  whom  everybody  was  interested,  at  a  time 
when  literary  information  from  'abroad  was  not  so 
full  as  it  is  now.  Those  who  thought  that  he 
toadied  and  manoeuvred  to  get  into  good  society  in 
London  were  much  mistaken.  An  artist  who  was 
there  at  the  same  time  assured  me  that  Mr.  Willis's 
society  was  sought  for,  and  that  he  had  no  difficulty 
in  meeting  the  best  people.  He  came  back  to  his 
work,  and  kept  to  it  cheerfully  and  assiduously  to 
the  last.  He  was  lied  about  and  libelled,  but  it 
never  seemed  very  much  to  disturb  his  equanimity. 
Most  men  who  are  clever  and  successful  meet  with 
the  same  annoyance. 

Mr.  Willis's  many  books,  now  mostly  unremem- 
bered,  with  their  fantastic  titles  and  frequent  rehash- 
ing, bring  me  again  to  the  subject  of  book-making. 
I  sometimes  ask  myself  whether,  if  I  had  my  life  to 
live  over,  I  would  try  to  put  what  I  had  to  say  into 
two  or  three  books,  which  might  have  a  chance  of 
living,  or  once  more  be  content  with  a  little  humble 
usefulness  in  my  day  and  generation,  and  so  accept 
oblivion  cheerfully.  I  remember  talking  this  matter 
over  with  my  excellent  friend  and  monitor,  Dr. 
Ephraiin  Peabody,  of  King's  Chapel,  in  Boston,  — 
the  fine  scholar  and  eloquent  preacher  of  whom 
Harriet  Martin  eau  speaks  so  kindly  in  her  "  Eetro- 
spect  of  Western  Travel."  He  had  the  instincts  of 
a  scholar,  and  he  thought  that  every  young  man  of 
literary  aspirations  should  try  to  produce  what  he 
called  "  a  remarkable  book."  I  pointed  to  his  library 


A    GOSSfP  Of  LETTERS,  359 

and  said,  "What  chance  is  there  of  a  remarkable 
book,  or  for  its  author  ? "  I  had  brought  him  a  great 
package  of  my  poems,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  think 
that  these,  whether  in  folio  or  quarto  or  octavo, 
would  be  considered  "  remarkable."  At  this  indif- 
ference on  his  part  I  was  sorely  hurt,  though  I  see 
now,  when  it  is  too  late,  how  right  he  was,  and  what 
an  addleheaded  youth  I  must  have  been.  I  know 
now  that  Dr.  Peabody,  the  clearest  of  thinkers,  as 
well  as  the  kindest  of  men,  was  not  thinking  so 
much  of  the  remarkable  book  aforesaid  as  he  was  of 
the  study  and  industry,  the  devotion  and  patience, 
which  might  or  might -not  result  in  the  production 
of  a  valuable  work,  but  were  certain  to  result  in 
right  character  and  conduct.  It  is  not  the  book  but 
the  making  of  a  book  which  may  be  the  making  of 
a  man,  whether  he  finds  a  publisher  or  not.  Fifty 
years  ago  it  was  something  of  a  distinction  to  appear 
with  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  title-page 
and  dedication  and  preface  and  table  of  contents,  — 
something,  but  not  much  of  an  honor.  Even  ear- 
lier, there  was  more  printing  done  in  the  United 
States  than  was  necessary  or  wholesome.  In  many 
a  little  country  town  the  presses  were  worked  pretty 
persistently,  —  in  such  places  as  Brattleborough,  Vt., 
Walpole,  K  H.,  and  Elizabethtown,  K  J.  The  Eng- 
lish classics  were  frequently  reproduced;  and  now 
and  then  original  works,  mostly  sermons,  which 
must  have  been  hard  to  write  and  not  easy  to  listen 
to.  But  when  The  Edinburgh  Review  sneeringly 


360       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

asked,  "  Who  reads  an  American  book  ? "  it  was, 
however  discourteous,  substantially  right.  What 
literary  triumphs  we  have  had  since  need  not  be 
considered  ;  but  if  any  master  or  miss  should  consult 
me  about  the  wisdom  of  attempting  the  manufacture 
of  a  book,  perhaps  my  advice  would  be  a  little  dis- 
couraging. There  seems,  alas !  to  be  so  many  of 
them  already.  Come  with  me,  my  aspiring  young 
friend,  to  the  stall  just  down  the  street.  Here  is  a 
long  row  of  shabby  and  ragged  volumes.  The  rains 
of  heaven  have  fallen  upon  them  ;  the  different 
winds  have  swept  over  them  the  dust  of  the  thor- 
oughfares ;  they  have  sunk  in  price  from  dollars  to 
shillings,  and  from  shillings  to  pence.  Yet  sweet 
and  pleasant  to  the  author  of  each  was  the  fresh . 
bantling  when  it  reached  him.  Pie  is  dead,  and  the 
book  is  as  good  as  dead.  Some  copies  were  given 
away;  few,  if  any,  were  sold.  There  was,  first, 
disappointment,  and  then,  may  be,  heartbreak.  Bet- 
ter to  be  a  journalist.  The  public  is  obliged  to  buy 
what  you  write,  whether  it  likes  your  work  or  not. 
Make  a  book  if  you  can  and  must,  but  be  sure  that 
you  must,  and,  above  all,  be  sure  that  you  can ! 

One  thing  I  am  anxious  to  say,  and  I  hope  that 
it  will  not  be  taken  unkindly.  Thirty  odd  years 
ago,  all  the  young  women  of  the  country  had  been 
made  ambitious  of  fame  and  of  fortune  by  the  tem- 
porary success  of  mediocre  books  also  written  by 
young  women.  One  of  them,  who  is  since  a  good 
wife  and  mother,  and  who  never  puts  pen  to  paper 


A    GOSSIP  OF  LETTERS.  361 

except  to  write  affectionate  letters  to  her  uncles  and 
aunts  and  cousins,  brought  me  a  great  heap  of  man- 
uscript. And  would  I  read  it  ?  And  would  I  say 
what  I  thought  about  it  ?  And  did  I  think  that 
Messrs.  Octavo,  Brevier,  &  Co.  would  give  her  a  lot 
of  money  for  it  as  they  gave  Miss  Dumming  for  her 
beautiful  story  of  "The  Lamp  Extinguisher?"  I 
said  most  positively  that  I  would  not  read  it,  and 
that  she  had  better  read  it  to  me.  That  was  my  sel- 
fishness, because  I  liked  to  listen  to  her  voice.  But 
alas  !  that  pleasant  voice  —  "  an  excellent  thing  in 
woman  "  —  could  not,  for  many  pages,  conceal  from 
me  that  the  romance  was  not  what  I  had  hoped 
against  hope  it  might  be.  And  then,  taking  my  life 
in  my  hand,  I  nerved  myself  for  a  short  address.  I 
said,  "  My  dear  Miss  X.,  I  would  n't  bother  with  this 
sort  of  thing,  if  I  were  you.  It  is  ladylike,  and  the 
grammar  is  not  bad,  and  your  handwriting,  I  observe, 
is  unexceptionable ;  but  those  scoundrels  of  publish- 
ers never  buy  anything  which  is  really  good,  and  I 
fear  that  this,  and  anything  else  which  you  might 
write,  would  be  altogether  too  good  for  them.  If 
you  could  sell  it  for  a  fair  price,  and  so  add  to  the 
comforts  of  life,  whicn  you  so  entirely  deserve,  I 
would  n't  say  a  word ;  but  you  can't.  If  I  were 
you,  I  would  get  from  literature  and  study  something 
better  than  fame  or  money,  neither  of  which  you  are 
likely  to  win.  I  would  make  it  a  private  pleasure 
and  a  personal  pastime.  I  would  write,  not  to 
please  others,  but  to  please  myself,  and  I  would  de- 


362       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

posit  my  best  things  under  the  lock  and  key  of  my 
portfolio."  She  went  away  sorrowing  much  and  a 
little  tiffed ;  but  whether  she  took  my  advice  or  not, 
I  never  saw  her  poor  little  novel  in  print.  This  is 
an  anecdote  which  I  put  here  for  the  benefit  of  sev- 
eral correspondents  whom  I  have  not  had  time  to 
answer.  I  wish  them  all  manner  of  prosperity ; 
and  will  they  please  to  take  this  as  a  sort  of  circu- 
lar response  ? 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  363 


CHAPTER  XXVIL 

BOOK    COLLECTING. 

THE  FIRST  OLD  BOOK.  —  CHARMS  OF  ANCIENT  VOLUMES.  — 
SCHOLARSHIP  OF  THE  OLD  WRITERS.  —  ALDUS,  FROBEN, 
SCHCEFFER,  ELZEVIR.  —  PRIZES  IN  THE  LOTTERY.  —  ANNO- 
TATED BOOKS  AND  BOOKS  WITH  AUTOGRAPHS.  —  THE 
SOLACE  OF  READING. 

AS  I  approach  the  end  of  this  chit-chat,  remem- 
bering that  the  veteran  may  lag  superfluous 
on  the  stage,  I  may  naturally  recall  the  particular 
and  personal  pleasure  which  has  tempered  the  "fag 
and  difficulties  of  my  career.  I  do  not  know  that 
the  fact  is  of  any  consequence  to  the  reader,  but  to 
me  it  seems  merely  a  decent  courtesy  that  I  should 
mention  here  those  who  have  been  my  best  friends 
through  all  the  tangle  and  trouble  and  toil  of  life. 
If  there  be  anything  for  which  I  thank  Fortune  pro- 
foundly, it  is  that  I  early  acquired  a  taste  for  read- 
ing, and  have  always  been  able  to  find  a  refuge  from 
the  dark  austerities  of  the  present  in  the  splendors 
and  fascinations  of  the  past.  I  date  my  partiality 
for  old  books  from  a  very  early  period ;  in  fact, -from 
the  time  when,  only  just  breeched,  I  stood  upon  a 
chair  and  found  two  or  three  of  them  in  my  grand- 
mother's closet.  One  of  these,  as  I  happen  to  re- 


364       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

member,  was  an  account  of  the  "  Life  and  Travels  of 
Captain  John  Smith."  It  has  been  one  of  the  mis- 
eries of  which  I  have  been  impatient,  that  I  have 
been  unable  to  recall  the  date  of  this,  my  first  rare 
book.  Lacking  the  date,  I  am  equally  at  a  loss  for 
the  title,  and  when  a  book-maniac  knows  neither 
date  nor  title,  he  may  well  be  considered  somewhat 
at  sea.  All  I  am  certain  of  is,  that  the  book  was  a 
quarto ;  that  the  date  was  sixteen  hundred  and 
something;  that  the  smell  of  the  leathern  cover 
made  a  profound  impression  upon  my  nostrils ;  and 
that  I  was  forever  looking  out  for  old  books  after- 
wards. My  strong  conjecture  is  that  the  volume  in 
question  must  have  been  "A  Description  of  JSTew 
England;  or  the  Observation  and  Discoveries  of 
Captain  John  Smith  (Admiral  of  that  Country),  in 
the  North  of  that  Country,  in  the  Year  of  our  Lord 
1614  London  :  1616,  4to." 

From  that  time  forth  I  came  near  to  discarding 
nineteenth-century  books  altogether.  I  was  re- 
pelled by  their  rawness.  They  seemed  to  me  to  be 
plebeians,  les  noveaux  riches  of  the  library,  with  their 
gilt-cloth  coats  and  pages  superabundantly  white 
and  black.  The  contempt  which  I  conceived  for 
this  haberdashery  of  binding,  a  good  many  years 
have  been  unable  to  eradicate.  I  think  pleasantly 
of  my  first  primer,  for  it  was  literally  in  boards,  — 
not  pasteboards,  but  wooden  boards,  —  with  a  thin 
cover  of  paper  pasted  upon  the  sides.  Since  I  early 
learned  to  smell  the  old  calf,  the  finer  fragrance  of 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  365 

Russia,  that  indefinable  scent  which  an  old  book  has 
when  you  put  your  nose  between  the  leaves  and  are 
rejuvenated  by  its  mustiness,  I  have  often  felt  sorry 
for  several  modern  authors  of  merit  because  they 
were  born  so  late.  Yet  why  should  I  extend  to 
them  my  useless  sympathy  ?  If  they  only  hang  to- 
gether, in  spite  of  our  extemporaneous  and  extremely 
indifferent  binding,  for  a  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
I  am  not  sure  that  they  will  not  be  dear  to  col- 
lectors yet  unborn,  only  I  cannot  help  my  doubts 
of  their  intrinsic  value.  Having  read  many  old 
books,  for  which  I  trust  that  no  bibliomaniac  will 
despise  me,  somehow  I  cannot  help  the  feeling  that 
often  they  are  more  worthy  of  perusal  than  the 
modern  manufactures.  Typographical  facilities  have 
exceedingly  multiplied;  there  are  machines  for  type- 
setting, for  printing,  for  binding.  It  is  easier  and 
cheaper  to  get  a  bad  book  printed  and  published 
than  it  once  was.  So  it  happens  that  books  of  the 
second  and  third  class,  printed  as  late  as  the  six- 
teenth and  seventeenth  centuries,  are  fuller  of  meat 
and  marrow,  of  careful  scholarship,  degenerating,  it 
is  true,  sometimes  into  pedantry,  than  ours  of  the 
same  order  now  are.  One  finds  in  them  all  manner 
of  erudite  oddness  and  queer,  quaint  knowledge. 
An  old  book  may  in  many  respects  be  pretty  bad, 
but  generally  it  came  from  a  scholar  who  garnished 
it  with  numberless  scraps  of  ancient  wisdom,  until  it 
was  plethoric  with  notes  and  rich  in  marginalia. 
People  who  fancy  that  Burton's  "  Anatomy  of  Mel- 


366       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

ancholy  "  is  the  only  book  of  its  kind,  can  boast  but 
limited  investigation.     Burton  has  been  the  fashion, 


read.  But  the  recluse  scholar  of  Christ  Church  only 
carried  to  a  noble  excess  the  custom  of  the  day. 
Every  writer  of  his  time  resorted  to  the  great  mines 
of  ancient  learning,  and  was  more  familiar  with 
Horace  and  Juvenal  and  Martial  than  we  are  with 
Pope  and  Addison.  Where  did  Bayle  find  out  all 
that  he  knew  ?  or  Montaigne  ?  or  Jeremy  Taylor  ? 
I  think  that  these  men,  who  were  not  supposed  to 
have  studied  hard,  studied  harder  than  men  do  now. 
If  you  read  one  of  Dryden's  dramatic  prefaces, — 
much  better  worth  reading  than  the  dreadful  plays 
which  they  precede,  —  you  are  surprised  by  the 
scholarship  of  one  who  certainly  never  had  much 
time  for  study.  It  is  so  with  all  the  old  books,  or 
at  least  with  many  of  them.  There  is  great  debate 
about  the  amount  of  classical  knowledge  which 
Shakespeare  possessed  ;  but  is  it  not  usually  forgot- 
ten how  familiar  the  ancient  writers  must  have  been 
in  his  time  to  those  even  who  could  only  read  the 
vernacular?  Latin  then  could  hardly  be  called  a 
dead  language.  There  were  no  English  books  which 
were  not  full  of  it,  with  translations  usually  ap- 
pended. But  this  suggests  a  discussion  into  which 
I  do  not  mean  to  enter.  I  have  only  meant  to 
allude  to  a  charm  of  the  old  books,  which  those  who 
love  them  can  afford  to  hear  laughed  and  sneered  at, 
as  they  often  do.  Let  those  laugh  who  win  ! 


BOOK  COLLECTING,  367 

There  is  nothing  about  which  the  generality  of 
mankind   is   more   ignorant  than   book  collecting 

o  Q» 

There  used  to  be  a  notion,  which  I  have  often  heard, 
that  bibliomaniacs  never  read  their  treasures.  Now 
it  so  happens  that  I  have  never  known  an  ardent 
collector  who  was  not  also  a  great  reader.  This, 
however,  may  have  been  my  luck.  Mr.  Burton,  in 
his  pleasant  volume,  "  The  Book  Hunter,"  speaks  of 
one  who  "was  guiltless  of  all  intermeddling  with 
the  contents  of  books,  but  in  their  external  attri- 
butes his  learning  was  maryellous."  This  was  the 
inch-rule  man,  who  was  always  measuring  margins 
and  the  height  of  the  binding.  Apropos  of  this, 
Mr.  Burton  speaks  of  the  Elzevir  Cresar  of  1635  in 
the  Imperial  Library  at  Paris,  of  which  Burnet  in- 
forms us  that  it  is  four  inches  and  ten  twelfths  in 
height,  and  is  the  tallest  copy  of  that  volume  in  the 
world.  I  suppose  that  the  average  height  of  Elze- 
virs is  four  inches  and  nine  twelfths;  that  is  the 
height  of  my  Elzevir  Statins.  Of  these  little  books, 
it  may  be  observed  that  most  who  want  to  show 
that  they  know  a  little  about  the  history  of  printing 
always  say  something  of  Elzevirs,  as  if  they  were 
scarce,  whereas  they  are  the  easiest  books  to  pick  up 
in  the  world.  Nor  have  I  ever  been  able  to  regard 
Elzevirs  as  particularly  well  printed.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  the  seventeenth  century,  though  the  typo- 
graphical art  had  made  great  advances,  the  pocket 
style  of  books  being  a  radically  wrong  one,  the  Am- 
sterdam printer's  small  type  must  have  ruined  a 


368       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

great  many  eyes,  if  the  human  orb  was  constructed 
then  as  it  is  now.  There  were  better  printers  than 
Elzevir,  even  in  his  own  style,  —  Maire,  for  instance, 
whose  exquisite  little  Tacitus  lies  side  by  side 
before  me  with  the  Elzevir  Statins,  and  beats  it 
in  all  qualities  of  letter  and  press-work  and  paper. 
It  was  printed  in  1640,  thirteen  years  before  the 
Elzevir  Statius,  and  is  in  every  way  a  handsome 
book.  But  let  us  not  be  afraid  to  go  back  !  Here 
is  George  Buchanan's  paraphrase  of  the  Psalms  of 
David,  printed  in  1595,  in  Planten's  office,  and  still 
in  the  tough  original  vellum.  It  is  in  the  Italic 
letter  of  Aldus,  and  is  dedicated  to  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  in  a  Latin  epigram,  at  a  time  when  it  was  not 
yet  absurd  to  style  her  a  nymph.  See  here,  too,  be- 
side it  —  with  the  imprint  "  Hagoniae,  Apud  lohan- 
nen  Setzerium,  MDXXV."  —  sundry  theological 
tracts  of  Melancthon,  in  a  binding  of  embossed 
leather,  which  had  grand  clasps  upon  it  once,  of  sil- 
ver, maybe,  and  very  likely,  for  they  are  gone  now, 
and  possibly  melted  up,  and  circulated  in  the  shape 
of  trade-dollars  at  this  very  hour.  It  is  charming 
to  give  one's  self  to  happy  conjecture.  But  look 
again  at  this  curious  volume,  interesting  though  not 
very  old  !  A  man  better  informed  about  it  than  I 
am  could  lecture  upon  it  for  an  hour.  See  how  the 
binding  is  of  solid  boards  with  the  printed  leather 
stretched  over  them.  In  what  forest  grew  the  wood 
from  which  this  timber  was  sawed  ?  See,  too,  how, 
at  the  sixteenth  page  of  the  Annotations  of  the  good 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  369 

Melancthon  upon  the  Proverbs,  —  which  I  have  not 
read,  and  do  not  intend  to  read,  —  you  may  observe 
"  Cap  VI."  in  three  or  four  line  letter.     The  chapter 
itself  is  upon  the  other  side.     The  title  is  put  in  that 
ignoble  place  to  save  paper,  which  was  dearer  then 
than  it  is  now.     But  we  have  had  enough  of  these 
little  books.     No,  we  have  not ;   for  here  are  the 
"  Annotations  of  Erasmus,"  of  Eotterdam,  upon  all 
the  Epistles  of  Paul,  and  printed  by  John  Schoeffer, 
at  Mentz,  in  1522.     It  is  in  the  Aldine  letter,  with 
the  quaintest  specimens  of  wood-engraving  in  the 
titles.     I  would  not  read  it  through  for  a  great  deal, 
but  what  a  book  it  is  to  look  at !     It  would  be  worth 
something  to  have  seen  this  binding  of  vellum,  so 
prettily  impressed,  as  it  came  fresh  from  Schceffer's 
office.    But  let  there  be  no  misunderstanding !    This 
Schceffer  was  only  the  grandson  of  the  great,  origi- 
nal Schoeffer,  included  as  an  inventor  of  printing 
with  Guttenberg  and  Faust.     Somebody  read  this 
book  once,  for  there  are  annotations  in  red  ink  upon 
the  margin.     It  belonged  to  "  B.  Fsesius,"  as  I  learn 
from  a  cramped  autograph  upon  the  cover.     I  won- 
der who  "  B.  Fsesius  "  was  ?     Whoever  he  was,  he 
was  a  Latinist,  for,  though  he  did  not  add  "  Liber," 
he  wrote  himself  in  the  genitive  "  B.  Faesii,"  and  left 
"  Liber  "  to  be  understood. 

I  linger  doubtingly  over  these  somewhat  ancient 

volumes,  for  I  have  a  horrible  suspicion  that  most 

of  my  kind  readers,  who  have  forgiven  my  garrulity 

so  long,  do  not  care  for  them  much.     I  have  had 

24 


370       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

melancholy  experiences  in  my  day.  People  came 
to  see  me ;  and,  full  of  the  spirit  of  hospitality,  I 
was  anxious  to  entertain  them.  I  unlocked  the 
cases  and  showed  them  the  treasures.  I  had  no 
fine  pictures  to  which  their  attention  might  be 
called.  I  thought  that  they  might  like  to  see  the 
old  books.  I  wondered  at  their  lack  of  enthusi- 
asm ;  but  I  was  told  by  the  domestic  monitors  that 
they  had  been  exceedingly  bored.  Then  I  remem- 
bered that  they  only  said  "  Yes  "  and  "  Oh ! "  and 
"  How  queer ! "  They  went  home,  I  suppose,  to 
read,  if  they  read  at  all,  Miss  Watermilk's  novels, 
or  something  else  hot  from  our  persistent  press. 
So  I  hardly  dare  to  mention  here  bigger  books  than 
the  little  Elzevirs,  of  which  the  aforesaid  visitors 
only  said,  "  Oh,  dear !  how  little  !  "  But,  as  it  was 
particularly  large,  they  sometimes  deigned  to  look 
at  my  copy  of  the  "Historia  Mundi"  of  Pliny, 
which  was  picked  up,  I  think,  in  Desbrosses  Street, 
and  was  printed  by  Froben,  at  Basle,  in  1525.  But 
all  they  said  of  that  was,  however,  "  God  bless  us, 
how  old  ! "  Then  I  was  reduced  to  the  mortifving 

»/         O 

necessity  of  explaining  that  it  was  not  particularly 
old,  but  a  specially  good  piece  of  printing,  and  that 
it  was  in  the  original  vellum.  Then  I  had  to  in- 
form them  that  it  was  not  so  well  printed  as  the 
"Tacitus,"  also  by  Froben,  and  printed  in  1533.  At 
which  they  said,  "  Ah  ! "  But  I  am  not  discouraged 
from  affirming  that  I  consider  the  "  Tacitus  "  one  of 
the  handsomest  books  which  ever  came  from  the 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  371 

press.     I  glance  at  its  beautiful  pages  as  I  write. 
Could  anything  be  more  uniform  than  the  composi- 
tion ?     The   words   are   only   divided   by  a   sharp 
accent  instead   of  the   abominable  hyphen  which 
disfigures  our  modern  pages.     The  spacing  through- 
out is  absolutely  uniform,  with  none  of  those  white 
zigzags   which   mar  many  a   fair   page  of  to-day. 
Aldus  uses  the  hyphen  constantly,  and  makes  no 
ado  of  putting  three  in  succession  at  the  end  of  as 
many  lines ;   but  Froben's  mark  for  division  is  so 
much  more  elegant,  that  I  am  surprised  that  it  has 
not  been  adopted  in  modern  printing.     I  suppose 
that  I  shall  lose  all  caste  as  a  connoisseur  if  I  say 
that  I  consider  Froben  to  have  been  a  much  better 
printer  than  Aldus  Manutius.     Of  course,  the  ques- 
tion is  not  of  the  least  human  interest ;  but,  as  I 
am  writing  this  chapter  to  please,  myself,  having 
written  many  to  please  other  people,  I  may  be  par- 
doned if  I  draw  a  comparison.     I  am  not  fortunate 
enough  to  possess  any  of  the  great  and  rarest  works 
from  the  Aldine  press;   but,  comparing  this  little 
copy  of  Livy,  printed  by  Aldus  in  1519,  so  far  as  a 
small  page  can  be  compared  with  a  large  one,  I  give 
my  hand  and  heart  to  Froben.     The  paper  of  Aldus 
is  a  little  more  elegant.     It  is  laid,  and  to-day  is 
whiter.      But   I   am   sure   that  the   Koman   letter 
which  Froben  uses  is  much  nobler  than  the  Italic  of 
Aldus,  which  strikes  me,  on  the  whole,  as  feeble.     I 
am  not  in  the  least  surprised  that  it  has  been  dis- 
carded.    Modern   scholars,   who  like   to   read  the 


372       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

classics  in  the  old  editions,  which  are,  of  course,  the 
most  accurate,  will  get  along  much  more  easily  with 
the  Roman.  So  we  will  put  the  Aldus  Livy  upon 
the  very  top  shelf,  where  the  .little  books  belong, 
and  I  will  keep  the  Froben  Tacitus,  and,  above  all, 
the  tall  Froben  Plinius  Secundus,  in  the  lower  place 
of  honor,  to  which  they  are  entitled.  And  so  enough 
for  to-day  of  the  old  printers  and  the  old  classics. 

The  hypercritics  may  aver  that  my  reminiscences 
have  gone  back  with  a  vengeance.  I  make  haste  to 
say  that  many  of  the  rarest  books  are  of  a  compara- 
tively modern  date.  I  could  mention  several  printed 
quite  recently  which  are  harder  to  get  now  than 
Elzevirs  or  even  Alduses.  A  friend  of  mine  has  for 
a  year  or  two  been  engaged  in  picking  up  original 
editions  of  the  late  Mr.  Hawthorne's  works,  and, 
although  he  has  been  tolerably,  he  has  not  been 
easily  successful.  A  long  time  pursuing  the  quest, 
he  can  now  produce  a  princeps  of  almost  everything 
which  Mr.  Hawthorne  published,  including  not  a 
few  magazine  articles  which  have  never  been  col- 
lected. He  was  proud  to  exhibit  to  me  his  treas- 
ures ;  and,  as  I  took  a  great  interest  in  his  progress 
and  literary  culture,  I  regarded  him  fondly  in  some 
sense  as  a  disciple,  and  anticipated  the  day  \vhen 
he  too  would  go  hunting  for  Frobens  and  Maiers 
and  Foulises  and  Baskervilles,  and  all  manner  of 
musty  books,  caviare  to  the  multitude,  but  much 
better  worth  looking  for  than  Roman  coins  or 
Federal  postage-stamps. 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  373 

There  is  something  curious  about  this  tendency  of 
a  book  just  printed  to  become  scarce.  One  morn- 
ing when  I  was  walking  up  Nassau  Street,  casting 
a  sheep's  eye  at  the  dingy  and  dirty  stalls,  a  well- 
known  bookseller  called  me  across  the  way,  and  put 
into  my  hand  the  American  edition  of  "The  Book- 
Hunter,"  edited  by  that  excellent  scholar,  Mr.  Bich- 
ard  Grant  White,  and  published  in  New  York  in  1863 
—  a  beautiful  piece  of  printing,  from  the  old  Eiver- 
side  Press.  My  bookseller  wanted  for  it  a  consider- 
able advance  upon  the  former  retail  price,  and,  by  the 
most  astonishing  accident,  having  the  money  for  it 
in  my  pocket,  I  bought  it.  Seventeen  years  only 
have  gone  by,  and  already  it  is  a  scarce  book,  as  I 
am  sure  it  is  a  delightful  one. 

Perhaps,  if  I  had  foreseen  how  this  topic  would 
have  been  so  full  of  suggestions,  I  should  not  have 
undertaken  its  discussion  in  this  limited  place. 
There  are  a  hundred  anecdotes  which  introduce 
themselves  to  the  memory;  and  though  I  have 
written  thus  far,  I  seem  to  have  written  nothing. 
The  accidents  which  are  the  events  of  a  life,  into 
which  books  have  entered,  are  as  romantic  as  the 
Chronicles  of  Froissart.  One  morning  I  was  list- 
lessly looking  over  a  lot  of  books  which  Mr.  Dun- 
ham had  received  from  London,  and  I  took  up  a 
rather  shabby  copy  of  the  philological  treatise  called 
"  Hermes,"  written  by  Harris,  and  one  of  the  com- 
monest books  in  the  world.  It  was  priced  at  fifty 
cents.  I  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  it  was  full  of 


374      REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

marginalia;  and,  looking  a  little  more  closely,  I 
read,  faintly  pencilled,  "This  was  Home  Tooke's 
copy,  and  the  annotations  are  by  him,"  I  went 
with  great  celerity  to  Lowndes's  "Manual,"  and 
there  I  read,  under  the  title  of  Harris,  "  Hermes, 
Home  Tooke's  sale,  -316,  with  MS.  notes  by  H. 
Tooke,  £16."  My  unfortunate  friend,  the  bookseller, 
had  marked  this  volume,  as  I  have  said,  at  fifty 
cents.  I  bought  it  and  paid  for  it  on  the  spot,  when 
I  tenderly  opened  the  matter  to  him,  and  enjoyed 
just  a  little  his  discomfiture ;  for  it  was  not  only  a 
unique,  but  an  extremely  valuable  book,  which  had 
been  sold  for  eighty  dollars,  and  bought  by  me  for 
fifty  cents.  How  it  ever  got  to  this  side  I  can 
hardly  conjecture;  I  am  sure  that  it  must  have 
been  by  accident. 

But  strange  and  rare  things  come  to  the  collector. 
I  have  many  odd  and  curious  volumes,  some  of 
which  would  not  seem  so  curious  to  the  ordinary 
reader.  They  are  only  of  value  to  those  who  love 
them.  Not  one  man  in  five  thousand  would  care 
for  Edwards's  "  Canons  of  Criticism,"  with  Mitford's 
manuscript  notes.  He  would  not  know  who  Edwards 
was,  though  he  might  find  some  account  of  him  in 
Boswell's  "  Life  of  Johnson  "  ;  and  he  would  not 
know  who  \Mitford  was,  though  that  commentator 
on  Shakespeare  has  been  dead  for  only  a  few  years. 
I  do  not  know  that  it  makes  my  copy  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Davenant  more  valuable  that  it  has  the  auto- 
graph of  John  Wilson  Croker  on  the  title-page ;  but 


BOOK  COLLECTING.  375 

to  me  it  brings  back  a  hundred  memories  of  Mac- 
aulay,  and  of  the  great  article  which  kept,  in  "  The 
Edinburgh  Eeview,"  no  terms  with  Crocker's  edition 
of  Boswell.  But  why  should  I  go  along  with  my 
cataloguing  ? 

I  have  spoken  in  several  of  these  chapters  of  my 
friends,  into  whose  faces  I  had  often  looked,  and 
whose  hands  I  had  often  clasped.  Here  I  have 
ventured  to  speak  of  these  other  friends,  whose 
voices  I  have  never  heard,  and  who,  long  before  I 
lived,  thought  and  wrote,  and  in  their  now  dusty 
books  asked  for  the  world's  sympathy  and  gratitude. 
Why  should  I  disdain  to  own  that  through  every  vi- 
cissitude, and  when  my  future  seemed  at  the  hardest, 
I  had  only  to  go  to  the  shelf  of  the  library  and  take 
therefrom  a  book,  which  would  strengthen,  encour- 
age, and  console  me  ?  Sometimes  we  read  for  mere 
amusement ;  sometimes,  alas !  for  dear  life  itself. 
'T  is  an  aristocracy,  this  love  of  books.  It  makes  us 
nobler  than  those  who  wrestle  for  the  merely  ma- 
terial, and  fills  our  whole  life  with  a  superiority 
above  that  of  presidents  or  millionaires. 


376       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

VALEDICTORY. 

THE  FASCINATIONS  OP  JOURNALISM.  —  THE  CHOICE  OF  A  PRO- 
FESSION. —  NEWSPAPER  WORK  AS  A  CALLING.  —  A  WORD 
FOR  MY  CORRESPONDENTS.  —  THE  MEN  OF  THE  PAST.  —  THE 
PERPETUITY  OF  THE  REPUBLIC.  —  THE  LAST  GREETING. 

THE  poets  have  exhausted  the  resources  of  lan- 
guage and  of  imagination  in  singing  of  fare- 
wells. In  journalism  we  do  not  often  suffer  ourselves 
to  lapse  into  such  sentimentalities.  We  are  like  the 
stern  old  fathers  in  comedies,  who,  instead  of  crying, 
merely  turn  their  heads  to  an  aside  and  blow  their 
noses.  We  are  merged  in  the  columns ;  we  are  like 
the  machines  for  setting  type,  which  all  day  are  rat- 
tling and  clattering  over  my  head,  grinding  out  poli- 
tics and  news,  popular  tales  and  minor  paragraphs. 
We  are  kept  necessarily  to  a  certain  line  of  political 
opinion ;  we  are  advocates  fighting  the  battles  of  our 
betters ;  we  make  toys  of  topics,  and  taking  them 
up  in  our  fingers,  twist  and  shape  them,  now  into  a 
comely  figure  and  now  into  a  grotesque,  as  a  sculp- 
,  tor  might  manipulate  his  clay.  We  bring  to  the 
work  such  knowledge  as  we  may  have  acquired,  such 
learning  as  we  have  not  forgotten,  while  over  the 
daily  and  nightly  drudgery  there  gleams  a  lingering 


VALEDICTORY.  377 

halo  of  the  hopes  and  the  ambitions  of  youth,  and 
of  those  large  achievements,  folio  and  quarto,  epics 
in  prose  and  epics  in  verse,  which  youthful  audacity 
conceived,  and  which  the  virility  of  fifty  years  is 
powerless  to  execute. 

Yet  I  suppose  that,  if  I  were  to  choose  again,  I 
should  choose  the  same  career,  even  with  a  long  ex- 
perience to  guide  me.  Cloistered  study  is  good; 
isolation  to  certain  temperaments  is  most  congenial ; 
the  life  which  has  in  it  the  fascination  of  half  active 
indolence,  which  escapes  noisome  vulgarity,  irritat- 
ing sciolism,  and  the  fuss  of  adventurous  speculation, 
seems  the  most  desirable  as  we  look  back.  But  per- 
haps that  is  only  the  instinctive  desire  for  rest,  which 
comes  to  us  as  the  day  grows  old,  just  as  we  think  of 
the  careless  days  of  childhood,  when  we  had  nothing 
to  do  except  to  be  natural,  and  to  enjoy  the  unin- 
terrupted felicity  of  living  and  learning.  We  find 
out  all  too  soon  that  such  luxury  is  incompatible  with 
a  stalwart  life.  Our  necessities  are  our  monitors. 
The  primal  curse  irritates  us  into  wholesome  activ- 
ity, and  third-rate  men  become  our  exemplars,  tell- 
ing us  continually  that  success  of  the  worldly  sort 
is  the  best ;  that,  life  being  a  game,  and  we  being  of 
those  who  live,  it  will  be  much  better  to  sit  down 
and  handle  the  cards,  and  gain  something  if  we  do 
not  gain  much.  How  is  a  mere  boy  to  be  wise  ? 
Sires  and  grandsires  urge  him  into  the  heady  fight, 
and  he  rushes  forward  to  win  or  to  be  won,  to  gain 
or  to  lose ;  but  always  to  keep  himself  in  active  re- 


378       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

lation  to  the  world  and  its  affairs.  He  has  no  call- 
ing to  the  clerical  profession ;  he  does  not  desire  to 
dose  his  fellow-creatures ;  the  law  tempts  him  not ; 
a  purely  literary  life  means  beggary  :  but  in  journal- 
ism he  may  be  always  near  human  interests,  and 
where  he  may  always  hear  the  beating  of  the  great 
human  heart.  Public  affairs  seem  large  to  a  boy,  as 
they  sometimes  seem  small  to  men.  He  thinks  that 
the  city  of  Washington  is  one  great  conscience.  He 
supposes  that  senators  have  always  an  invisible 
monitor,  like  that  of  Socrates,  whispering  of  integ- 
rity and  self-sacrifice  and  duty  in  their  ears.  He 
thinks  that  representatives  must  experience  almost 
the  pangs  of  parturition  before  parting  with  a  public 
dollar.  He  assumes  that  a  man  who  makes  a  speech 
which  is  to  be  printed  must  be  competent  to  do"  so  : 
he  learns  at  last  that  the  speech  was  never  made, 
and  that  it  was  not  worth  printing.  But  this  is  a 
disillusion  which  comes  afterward.  He  turns  to  the 
press  as  affording  the  best  method  of  winning  his 
bread,  as  the  press  makes  senators  and  representa- 
tives. More  and  more,  educated  lads  adopt  this  way 
of  getting  forward ;  and  if  they  will  only  leave  be- 
hind them  their  romantic  dreams,  and  will  be  con- 
tent to  do  much  and  to  bear  much,  and  to  understand 
that  the  press  is  only  an  exponent  of  the  best  public 
thought,  and  has  and  must  have  its  commercial  side, 
they  may  be  sure  of  meeting  their  weekly  bills,  with 
a  few  shillings  left  over  for  unnecessary  indulgences. 
But  let  me  not,  in  making  my  farewell  bow  to 


VALEDICTORY.  379 

my  Tribune  readers,  forget  how  kindly  they  have 
received  my  garrulous  memories,  nor  how  often 
they  have  assured  me,  by  letters  from  all  parts  of 
the  country,  that  they  tolerated  my  foibles  and 
my  loquacity.  There  is  a  great  heap  of  epistles 
before  me  as  I  write,  —  letters  which  were  meant 
both  to  cheer  and  to  correct  me.  One  of  them  has 
come  from  so  far  away  a  place  as  Paris.  Many  of 
them  have  come  from  a  city  so  impatient  of  inaccu- 
racy as  Boston,  —  a  locality  in  which  nobody  was 
ever  known  to  make  a  mistake.  Ex-senators  have 
deigned  to  set  me  right.  All  were  genially  written, 
though  the  writers  were  unable  to  estimate  charac- 
ter as  I  did,  or  to  see  events  as  I  saw  them.  What 
I  had  to  say  of  Mr.  Webster,  for  instance,  was  very 
provocative  of  friendly  remonstrance.  I  never  un- 
derstood, and  I  think  that  I  shall  never  understand, 
the  particular  spell  which  this  distinguished  man 
exercised  over  minds  which  I  am  constrained  to  say 
were  superior  to  his  own,  —  I  am  sure  I  may  say  over 
consciences  which  were  more  tender.  Here  is  a 
letter  which  I  could  not  peruse  without  emotion. 
It  came  from  a  pious  and  learned  clergyman  of  New 
England,  who  was  very  good  to  me  when  I  was  a 
boy.  What  scenes  it  recalled  of  the  beautiful  Eliz- 
abeth Islands,  and  especially  of  Naushon,  the  queen 
of  them  all !  I  heard  again  the  friendly  voice ;  I 
recalled  admonitions  which  I  should  have  heeded 
better ;  I  remembered  the  strolls  which  we  took  to- 
gether, as  we  heard  the  whisper  of  the  sea  upon  one 


380       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

side  and  the  whisper  of  the  wood  upon  the  other. 
Alas !  how  long  ago  it  seemed.  The  new  books 
which  we  then  talked  of  have  become  obsolete  ;  the 
old  ones,  perhaps,  fresher  and  fresher ;  my  mentor 
and  myself  are  both  nearer  the  point  at  which  all 
human  guidance  will  cease  :  yet,  writing  here  under 
this  hot  New  York  sun,  I  think  of  those  autumnal 
afternoons,  of  the  grave  discourse  which  we  had 
upon  the  shore ;  and  I  pick  his  letter  out  from  the 
bundle,  and  I  drop  upon  it  a  hot  tear  or  two,  because 
in  it  he  speaks  of  my  mother,  to  whom  I  owe  all  I 
have  worthily  been  and  all  I  hope  to  be. 

All  lives  which  extend  over  half  a  century  are 
worth  considering.  It  would  be  none  the  worse  for 
men  if  they  were  somewhat  more  in  the  habit  of  sit- 
ting down  and  philosophically  regarding  their  own. 
A  young  man  cares  for  nothing,  because  he  has  be- 
fore him,  or  thinks  that  he  has,  rich  opportunities  of 
repairing  mistakes.  An  older  man  has  no  such  con- 
solation. He  is  what  he  has  made  himself.  The  seed 
sown  long  ago  crops  out  after  an  interval  of  many 
summers.  But  I  have  not  proposed  in  the  course  of 
these  papers  to  preach  sermons,  and  I  shall  not  be- 
gin now  when  they  are  to  be  brought  to  a  close. 
The  young  critics  will  know  more  when  they  get 
older ;  the  more  ancient,  I  am  sure,  will  put  their 
hands  in  my  own  as  I  extend  them  both  for  fare- 
well. They,  too,  have  lived,  have  hoped  and  been 
disappointed,  have  suffered  and  been  strong,  or  oth- 
erwise, as  the  destinies  ordained.  As  we  get  assem- 


VALEDICTORY.  381 

bled  upon  the  muddy  shore  of  the  Styx,  tumbling 
into  the  boat  of  the  ferryman,  it  does  no  harm  if  we 
wag  our  old  heads  together,  and  discourse  in  a  friendly 
way  of  what  has  gone  before.  I  do  not  know  that 
any  life  is  to  be  considered  an  absolute  failure.  Most 
do  something  which  is  not  altogether  reprehensible 
as  they  wade  through  its  sloughs,  encounter  its  aus- 
terities, and  experience  its  bereavements.  There  are 
not  so  many  insolvencies  as  we  think.  Is  any  life, 
after  all,  worthless  ?  Has  there  ever  been  one  into 
which  some  good  did  not  enter  ?  But  let  us  not  in- 
dulge too  closely  the  scrutiny.  He  who  made  us 
surely  will  not  judge  us  harshly.  Shelley  says  some- 
where that  what  it  was  foolish  to  do  it  is  foolish  to 
regret.  There  is  an  inordinate  gulf  of  philosophi- 
cal speculation  between  this  conclusion  and  that 
other  one  to  which  we  are  driven  by  the  usual  view 
of  human  responsibility.  It  will  not  be  for  the 
comfort  of  any  of  us  if  we  here  too  rigidly  investi- 
gate the  problem.  We  may  laughingly  dismiss  it 
with  the  acknowledgment  that,  though  we  may  from 
bitter  experience  groan  out,  "  Quod  erat  demonstran- 
dum," it  will  alter  neither  our  past  nor  the  future  of 
others.  It  is  best,  even  in  this  final  chapter,  to 
concern  ourselves  with  smaller  and  less  disagreeable 
matters. 

One  who  has  long  been  in  the  habit  of  discussing 
public  affairs  may  fall  into  a  dismal  mood  because 
wrong  and  outrage  and  mistakes  still  keep  pace 
with  his  increasing  years.  I  desire  here  to  enter 


382       REMINISCENCES  OF  A  JOURNALIST. 

my  testimony,  if  it  be  worth  anything,  that  the 
world  moves,  and  moves  for  the  best.  We  must 
bridge  the  phases ;  we  must  make  allowance  for  our 
own  short-sightedness ;  we  must  be  willing  to  ac- 
knowledge that  reformers  are  always  in  a  hurry, 
and  project  themselves  too  ardently  into  a  possible 
future.  I  have  seen  so  much  of  that  in  my  time 
that  now,  if  I  had  a  great  suggestion  to  give  to  the 
public  mind,  I  fear  that  I  should  keep  it  in  my 
pocket  for  a  year,  and  maybe  for  five  years.  I  should 
distrust  the  gaping  interim  between  project  and 
performance ;  and,  fearing  mobs,  libels,  sneers,  and 
monthly  disappointments,  I  fancy  that  I  should  bid 
the  world  wait.  It  would  not  be  wise,  but  it  would 
be  natural. 

And  yet  why  should  I  lapse  into  this  foolish 
reverie  ?  Maugre  all  our  melancholy  discourage- 
ments, the  world  does  move.  See  how  it  has  moved 
in  my  time !  I  am  not  in  the  least  sure  that  men 
do  not  think  more  clearly  and  courageously  than 
they  once  did.  I  fancy  that  great  moral  questions 
are  better  discussed  than  they  were.  Of  course  I 
have  my  regretful  memories.  If  I  were  put  to  the 
question,  I  fear  that  I  should  be  obliged  to  say  that 
public  characters  do  not  speak  so  wrell  as  formerly : 
how  can  I  help  feeling  that  ?  I  am  not  in  the 
least  afraid  of  sneers.  I  may  be  told  that  I  am 
merely  homesick  for  the  old  days.  Only  I  know 
better.  Has  it  been  for  nothing  that  I  read  "  The 
Congressional  Globe  "  then  and  now  ?  Mere  speak- 


VALEDICTORY.  383 

ing,  rhetoric,  and  elocution  is  not  much  in  itself, 
compared  with   careful  thought  and  conscientious 
decision ;  but  one  likes  to  have  a  great  head  over 
the  ready  lips,  and  to  recognize  that  an  oration  is 
whole    and    round.     When   I   first    heard  Daniel 
Webster  speak,  the  sense  of  power  overcame  me. 
How  he  smote  us  into  conviction  by  the  sweep  of 
his  stalwart  arm  !     There  was  a  school  of  oratory  in 
those  days.     The  people  then  were  worth  speaking 
to,  because  they  wished  to  hear  matters  discussed, 
and  did  not  propose  to  vote,  upon  this  side  or  the 
other,  without  being  convinced.     They  say  that  the 
public  men  now  are  just  as  able ;  that  the  oratory  is 
just  as  good ;  that  it  is  all  nonsense  to  talk  of  the 
superiority  of  past  political  discussions.     Maybe  so. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  dispute  the  assertion.     Only  up 
there  upon  the  shelf  are  the   speeches  of  Daniel 
Webster,  of  Henry  Clay,  of  Calhoun,  of  so  many 
others.      Anybody  can  read  them ;  not  everybody 
can  judge  them  rightly.     But,  possibly,  no  good  can 
come  of  comparison.    We  are  where  we  are.     Being 
where  we  are,  we  must  make  the  best  of  it. 

Shall  I  attempt  to  sum  up  all  that  during  fifty 
years  the  world  has  seen  accomplished  ?  It  would 
be  more  cheerful  if  the  report  which  one  is  compelled 
to  make  of  it  were  a  little  more  encouraging.  It  has 
somehow  and  in  some  manner  made  itself.  But  why 
complain  ?  Underlying  all  the  speech  of  men, 
superior  to  our  elections  and  their  results,  greater 
even  than  the  newspapers,  finer  than  the  orators, 


384       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

stronger  than  the  genius  which  informs  leading 
articles,  is  the  great  good  sense  of  the  people,  which 
I  have  watched  for  so  long,  and  have  never  found 
wanting.  How  it  dominates  over  all  our  specula- 
tions !  How  it  leads  those  who  think  that  they  are 
leading !  How  it  suddenly  changes  the  aspect  of 
canvasses,  and  thwarts  all  the  contrivances,  however 
subtle,  of  the  convention  managers !  This  is  the 
first  republic  in  the  world  to  be  governed  by  the 
subtile  influence  of  good  sense.  I  have  a  hundred 
times  seen  it  doomed  to  perdition.  I  have  myself, 
in  moments  of  despondency,  predicted  in  elevated 
phrases  its  dissolution.  It  was  going  to  ruin,  pre- 
destinate and  inevitable,  in  the  days  of  General 
Jackson's  contest  with  the  United  States  Bank. 
They  told  me  in  my  childhood  that  it  came  very 
near  to  destruction  about  the  time  of  the  adoption 
of  the  Constitution  ;  and  again  after  the  negotiation 
of  Jay's  treaty ;  during  the  contests  of  the  Federal- 
ists and  the  Democrats ;  then  when  the  war  of  1812 
destroyed  its  commerce,  and  exposed  its  frontier  to 
invasion ;  then  again  when  industry  seemed  par- 
alyzed by  the  crude  notions  of  the  executive  about 
currency  and  banking,  which  palsied  commerce  and 
changed  industry  into  idleness ;  once  more  when 
the  question  of  human  slavery  muddled  men's  in- 
tellects, depraved  their  religious  notions,  made  them 
as  fearful  as  children  and  as  unreasonable  as  ship- 
wrecked voyagers.  Eebellion  smote  at  the  founda- 
tions of  the  Government.  Many  of  those  who  read 


VALEDICTORY.  385 

this  will  remember  that  they  began  to  doubt  whether 
they  had  a  country  at  all.  Yet  to-day  we  are 
where  we  are,  with  no  apprehensions  save  those 
which  have  come  so  often  only  to  be  dissipated,  and 
with  a  surety  that  the  sun  of  the  republic  will  con- 
tinue to  rise,  equal  to  that  which  makes  us  at  night 
believe  in  the  next  morning. 

If  we  have  faith,  we  have  a  right  to  it.  Our  trust 
in  the  future  is  based  upon  the  perpetually  recur- 
ring good  sense  of  the  people,  upon  the  physical 
advantages  of  the  land,  and  upon  the  impossibility 
in  this  nineteenth  century  of  dooming  a  continent 
to  ignorance,  to  political  inequality,  and  to  that 
succession  of  mistakes  which  must  end  in  destruc- 
tion. I  do  riot  care  how  elections  are  determined; 
,1  do  not  care  whether  stocks  rise  or  fall.  The 
fuss  and  the  flurry  of  the  hour  may  alarm  others, 
but  it  does  not  alarm  me.  The  incompetence  of 
public  men  may  occasion  a  temporary  uneasiness, 
but  every  rational  mind  will  understand  and  trust 
in  the  underlying  power  and  protection  of  human 
intelligence. 

As  I  close,  I  look  somewhat  tenderly  and  some- 
what proudly  back  upon  this  half  century,  which 
has  so  long  furnished  me  with  a  theme,  I  hope  not 
ungrateful  to  my  readers.  I  seem  to  be  dissolving 
a  tender  relation,  and  to  be  wilfully  severing  the 
cords  which  connected  me  with  so  many  kindly 
hearts.  But  in  this  world  there  must  be  an  end  of 
all  things,  and  of  this  series  the  end  has  come.  I 
25 


386       REMINISCENCES  OF  A   JOURNALIST. 

have  felt  more  than  once,  as  I  wrote,  how  true  is 
that  sentiment  of  Martial :  — 

"  Hoc  est 
Vivere  bis,  vita  posse  priore  frui." 

When  only  a  few  years  remain,  if  I  may  paraphrase 
the  words  of  the  poet,  it  brings  back  our  youth  to 
recall  the  early  activities,  and  to  prate  of  the  past. 
I  do  not  know  that  I  shall  ever  again  come  into 
such  an  intimate  relation  with  so  many  readers.  I 
recall  a  hundred  words  of  kindness  and  encourage- 
ment. I  linger  wistfully  over  the  page,  asking  my- 
self if  another  sentence  or  two  cannot  be  added.  I 
would  fain  prolong  the  parting ;  but  as  the  bell 
rings  and  the  curtain  is  falling,  what  can  I  do  but 
hold  my  peace,  and  retire  with  a  grace  more  grateful 
than  it  is  possible  for  me  to  express  ? 


INDEX. 


ABOLITIONISTS,  130;  bigotry  of, 

173. 

Actor,  a  sensitive,  313. 
Adams,   Charles  Francis,    quoted 
27  ;    his  wrath  at  the  assault  ol 
Brooks  upon  Charles  Sumner, 
84. 

Adarns,  John,  164. 

Adams,  John  Quincy,  26 ;  charac- 
teristics of,  27,  28 ;  his  felici- 
tous characterization  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  Democratic  party, 
66. 

Adams,  Rev.  Dr.,  170. 

Addie,  Mr.,  345. 

Allen,  Andrew  Jackson,  anecdote 
of,  193. 

Allen,  Judge,  131. 

American  literature,  the  beginning 
of,  348. 

Ames,  Samuel,  114. 

Amusements  of  fifty  years  ago,  302. 

Andrew,  John  A.,  tribute  to,  156. 

Anthony,  Burrington,  110. 

Antislavery  feelings,  128. 

Arnold,  Dr.,  99  ;  extract  from  let- 
ter of,  111. 

Astor,  John  Jacob,  294. 

.Atlas,  The  Boston,  death  of,  209. 

Atwell,  Samuel  Y.,  114. 

Author,  the,  first  verses  written  by, 
12  ;  Horace  Greeley's  tribute 
to,  232. 

BANCROFT,  GEORGE,  character  as 
a  Democrat,  and  peculiarities  as 
a  speaker,  63. 


Banks,  Nathaniel  P.,  his  political 

history,  151. 
Barry,  Tom,  314,  315. 
Bartlett,  Ellis,  who   he  was,  and 
other  facts  concerning  him,  52- 
56. 

Bayle,  Peter,  91. 
Bennett,  James  Gordon,  323. 
Bird,  Dr.,  190. 
Bird,   Francis  W.,  characteristics 

of,  155. 

Bloomer  dress-reform,  260. 
Bohemianism,  336. 
Book-collecting,     fascination     of, 
364  ;  some  old  books  and  their 
peculiarities,  367  et  seq. ;  many 
of  rarest  books  of  modern  date, 
372;  interesting  incident  of,  373. 
Book-making,  352,  358 ;  anecdote 

relevant  to,  360. 
Books,  old,  the  charm  of,  365. 
Booth,  the  elder,  a  reminiscence  of, 

183  ;  anecdotes  of,  185. 
Booth,  Edwin,  183. 
Boston,  conservatism  of,  in  politics, 

86. 

Boswell,  374. 
Bowles,  Samuel,  210. 
Uradley,  Justice,  100.' 
Brewer,  Dr.,  144. 
13riggs,  Gov.,  355. 
Brisbane,  Mr.,  340. 
Brooks,  Dr.,  99. 
[{rooks,  Preston  S.,  160. 
[?nnvu,  Dr.  John  A.,  his  connec- 
tion with  free  suifrage  in  Rhode 
Island,  106. 


588 


INDEX. 


Brownson,  Orestes  A.,  41 ;  bis 
character  as  a  Democrat,  61, 
62. 

Bruce,  David,  10. 

Bruce,  David  W.,  10. 

Bryant,  William  Cullen,  32,  33. 

Buchanan,  George,  368. 

Buckingham,  Joseph  T.,  197,  329. 

Buckle,  Henry  Thomas,  254. 

Bull,  Ole,  popularity  of,  its  charac- 
ter, 196. 

Bunker,  Capt.,  293. 

Burdcll,  Dr.,  murder  of,  257. 

Burdett-Coutts,  Baroness,  mar- 
riage of,  53-55. 

Burke,  224. 

Burlingame,  Anson,  at  time  of  his 
entrance  into  public  affairs,  148 ; 
his  conduct  on  occasion  of 
Brooks's  assault  upon  Sumner, 
149. 

Burnet,  367. 

Burton,  Mr.,  367. 

Burton,  Rev.  Warren,  50. 

Butler,  Pierce,  275. 

CAMPAIGN  of  1840,  the  character 
of,  78. 

Campbell,  Tom,  242. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  267,  355;  his 
influence  upon  American  letters, 
116. 

Carpenter,  Gen.  Thomas  F.,  112 ; 
anecdotes  concerning,  113. 

Carter,  Robert,  his  vast  knowledge, 
246. 

Changes  which  have  taken  place  in 
fifty  years,  297. 

Channing,  Rev.  Dr.,  reputation  as 
a  preacher,  to  what  due,  44 ; 
his  essay  on  slavery,  ib. 

Child,  Lydia  Maria,  her  admiration 
for  Ole  Bull,  197. 

Choate,  Rufus,  283  ;  as  a  politi- 
cian, 74  ;  as  a  lawyer  and  ad- 
vocate, ib. ;  anecdote  illustrative 
of  his  astonishing  handwriting, 


75  ;  anecdote  illustrating  his 
rapid  elocution,  76  ;  oratory  of, 
ib. 

Choules,  Rev.  John  Overton,  char- 
acteristics of,  43. 

Church,  Dr.  Benjamin,  47. 

Clapp,  Henry,  173;  brief  history 
of,  338 ;  lesson  taught  by  his 
life,  340. 

Cleveland,  John  Fitch,  his  connec- 
tion with  the  "  Tribune,"  271. 

Clifford,  John  H.,  60,  69. 

Coffin,  Sir  Isaac,  338. 

Coggeshail,  Capt.,  293. 

Coleridge,  343. 

Comet,  the,  of  1843,  254. 

Congress,  the  man  who  wants  to 
run  for,  311. 

Connery,  Mr.,  257. 

Coombs,  Leslie,  anecdote  of,  75. 

Corporal  punishment,  cruelty  of, 
51. 

Cuffe,  Capt.  Paul,  1 7. 

Cummiugs,  Mrs.,  257- 

Curtis,  Benjamin  R.,  137- 

Curtis,  George  T.,  170. 

Curtis,  George  William,  280. 

Gushing,  Caleb,  his  connection 
with  Tyler's  administration,  83 ; 
lack  of  popularity,  and  incidents 
of  his  career,  85. 

DANA,  Richard  H.,  the  poet,  his 
remark  concerning  Brackett's 
bust  of  Allston,  140. 

Dana,  Richard  H.,  Jr.,  counsel  for 
Simms,  138  ;  an  incident  con- 
cerning, 170. 

Dearborn,  George,  263. 

De  Quincey,  297. 

Delta-Kappa-Epsilon  Society,  po- 
em delivered  before,  in  Wash- 
ington, 285. 

Dewey,  Rev.  Dr.  Orville,  36  ;  his 
sermons,  37. 

Democrats  of  Massachusetts,  some 
early  leading  ones  and  their  doc- 


INDEX. 


389 


trincs,  61 ;  condition  of  party 
during  the  canvass  of  1810,  66. 

Dickens,  303. 

Dodge,  Hon.  Augustus  Ojcsar,  285 

Dodington,  George  Bubb,  4. 

Dorr,  Thomas  Wilson,  account  of 
him  and  his  connection  with  the 
Rhode  Island  Rebellion,  108. 

Dorr  Rebellion,  the.  See  Rhode 
Island. 

Douglas,  Stephen  A.,  his  wonder- 
ful' power,  286 ;  reminiscence 
of,  287. 

Douglass,  Frederick,  171 ;  his  ora- 
tory, 172 ;  incident  illustrating 
his  presence  of  mind,  ib. 

Draft  Riot,  the,  in  New  York,  248. 

Draper,  Mr.,  251. 

Drydcn,  366. 

Duff,  Mrs.,  182. 

Durfee,  Job,  97. 

EDITOR,  disagreeable  duties  of  an, 
328. 

Eliot,  Thomas  D.,  75,  162,  287- 

Elssler,  Fanny,  reminiscence  of, 
194 ;  anecdote  of,  concerning 
Mr.  Emerson  and  Margaret 
Fuller,  196. 

Elton,  Rev.  Romeo,  his  character- 
istics/humorous and  otherwise, 
96. 

Ehvood,  Thomas,  autobiography 
of,  2. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo,  33,  116; 
incidents  concerning,  34 ;  ex- 
pressions concerning  Margaret 
Fuller,  118. 

Everett,  Alexander  H.,  his  learn- 
ing and  talent,  73. 

Everett,  Edward,  262  ;  oratory  of, 
70 ;  versatility  of,  71  ;  passage 
from  one  of  his  speeches,  72 ; 
concerning  Webster,  203. 

FISHER,  CLARA,  176. 
Ford,  Gordon  L.,  111. 


Forrest,  Edwin,  criticism  of,  190  ; 
anecdotes  of,  193. 

Franklin,  329. 

Free-Soil  party,  formation  of, 
131. 

Fremont,  nomination  of,  an  inci- 
dent of  the,  154. 

Frieze,  Dr.,  99. 

Froben  compared  with  Aldus  Ma- 
nutius,  371. 

Fry,  Elizabeth,  quoted,  21. 

Fry,  William  H.,  his  musical  work 
and  newspaper  writing,  235. 

Fuller,  Margaret,  her  accomplish- 
ments and  fascination,  118  ;  in- 
appropriately likened  to  Ma- 
dame de  Stael,  120;  her  fame 
and  place  in  literature,  121. 

GARDNER,  HENRY  J.,  Know- 
Nothing  candidate  for  gover- 
nor, 144 ;  how  he  obtained  his 
nomination,  145. 

Garrison,  Wm.  Lloyd,  17. 

Garroting  in  New  York,  256. 

Gaston,  William,  99. 

Gates,  William  P.,  his  excellence 
as  a  comedian,  177- 

Gifford,  William,  autobiography 
of,  4. 

Giles,  Rev.  Henry,  anecdote  fold 
by,  35;  his  various  admirable 
qualities  in  his  different  spheres, 
123. 

Goldsmith,  350. 

Goodrich,  Mr.,  316. 

Greek  and  Latin,  character  of  their 
value  in  education,  95. 

Greeley,  Horace,  266,  317,  324, 
339 ;  opinion  on  Dorr  Rebel- 
lion, 111  ;  relations  with  Mar- 
garet Fuller,  119;  bis  identity 
with  his  newspaper,  216  ;  the 
possessor  of  two  intellectual 
qualities  rarely  combined,  218; 
intrusions  upon  his  privacy, 
219;  anecdote  of,  220;  his 


390 


INDEX. 


adherence  to,  and  senrch  after, 
truth,  221 ;  his  dry  humor,  223 ; 
his  desire  to  prove  himself  more 
than  a  mere  theorist,  225 ;  his 
fitness  and  candidacy  for  presi- 
dential honors,  226  ;  his  quick 
literary  sense,  229 ;  editorial 
methods,  230 ;  his  memory  of 
what  pleased  him,  231 ;  during 
the  Draft  Riot,  249. 

Green,  Albert  G.,  349 ;  author  of 
"  Old  Grimes,"  350. 

Green,  Duff,  330. 

Grinnell,  Hon.  Joseph,  354. 

Gurowski,  Count  Adam,  256 ;  his 
connection  with  the  "Tribune," 
237. 

HACKETT,  DR.  HORATIO  B.,  trib- 
ute to  his  distinguished  abilities 
as  a  classical  teacher,  95. 

Hale,  Nathan,  329. 

Hallett,  Benjamin  F.,  31 ;  anec- 
dote of,  137- 

Hamblin,  Thomas,  178;  his  act- 
ing of  Othello,  179. 

Hanscombe,  Simon  P.,  an  incident 
concerning,  154. 

Harrison,  Gen.,  anecdote  of  his 
nomination  for  President,  67 ; 
glorification  and  idolatry  of,  in 
campaign  of  1840,  79. 

Harvey,  Peter,  134. 

Hanghton,  Richard,  anecdote  of,  67. 

llnwthorne,  Nathaniel,  his  ser- 
vices as  a  Democrat,  61. 

Hazard,  Benjamin,  105  ;  anecdote 
of,  106. 

Head,  Sir  Francis,  262. 

Henry,  Professor,  288. 

Hildreth,  Richard,  67,  269;  his 
writings,  editorial  and  literary, 
233. 

Hillard,  George  Stillman,  charac- 
ter of,  taken  as  a  type  of  Bos- 
ton conservatism,  168. 

Hillsborough,  Lord,  247. 


ILLUSTRATIONS,  use  of,  in  print- 
ing, 11. 

JACKSON,  ANDREW,  hatred  of,  in 
Massachusetts,  26 ;  anecdote 
concerning  his  financial  policy, 
64. 

Johnson,  Oliver,  129,  282. 

Journalism,  its  requirements  and 
rewards,  240 ;  some  of  the  ex- 
periences of,  308 ;  why  so  few 
men  succeed  in,  318 ;  training 
required  for,  323 ;  difference 
between  it  and  other  liberal 
professions,  326 ;  scarcity  of 
the  highest  prizes  in,  329  ;  ad- 
vice to  those  intending  to  enter, 
330 ;  tendency  in  literary  cir- 
cles to  depreciate  the  dignity 
and  value  of,  333 ;  fascination 
of,  377. 

Journalist,  qualities  necessary  to 
a  good,  317  ;  feats  accomplished 
by  a,  318;  knowledge  especially 
necessary  to  a,  325. 

Juvenile  literature,  present  style 
of,  31. 

KASSON,  JOHN  A.,  75. 

Kean,  Charles,  anecdote  of,  189. 

Kemble,  Fanny,  her  criticism  of 
Forrest,  190. 

Kendall,  Amos,  confidential  circu- 
lar-letter issued  by,  as  postmas- 
ter-general under  Van  Bureu, 
66. 

KetteU,  Mr.,  352. 

Keyser,  William,  197. 

Kimball,  Moses,  185. 

Know-Nothing  party,  organiza- 
tion of,  in  Massachusetts,  1 13  ; 
nature  and  duration  of  its  exist- 
ence, 147. 

Kock,  Pad  de,  264. 

LAMB,  CHARLES,  quoted,  6,  52. 
Lancaster,   Joseph,   his   influence 
upon  public-school  system,  50. 


INDEX. 


391 


Lathrop,  George  Van  Ness,  100. 

Lutimcr,  George,  171- 

Lawrence,  Abbott,  as  minister  to 
England,  134  ;  anecdote  of,  135 ; 
benevolence  of,  136. 

Lawyers,  the  fame  of,  114;  anec- 
dote of  one,  ib. 

Lincoln,  Colonel  Ezra,  165. 

Lind,  Jenny,  furore  created  by, 
198. 

Literary  remuneration,  changes 
which  have  occurred  during 
fifty  years,  126. 

Little,  Brown,  &  Co.,  246. 

Lockhart's  "  Life  of  Scott,"  anec- 
dote borrowed  from,  45. 

Longfellow,  Margaret  Fuller's  un- 
critical remark  concerning,  in 
"  The  Dial,"  121. 

Lord,  Dr.  Nathan,  tribute  to, 
281. 

Lowell,  James  Russell,  86,  245. 

Lurnnus,  Aaron,  339. 

Lunt,  George,  170. 

Lynch,  Miss  Annie  C.,  121. 

MACAULAY,  375. 

Maffit,  Rev.  John  Newland,  amus- 
ing and  interesting  character  of, 
46. 

Maire,  368. 

Mann,  Horace,  attitude  at  time  of 
extradition  of  Simms,  140  ;  an- 
ecdote of,  ib. ;  his  great  services 
to  public  education,  141. 

Manners  of  fifty  years  ago,  304. 

Martial,  quoted,  386. 

Martineau,  Harriet,  40,  358. 

Masonry,  excitement  against,  29. 

Massachusetts,  public-school  sys- 
tem of,  50 ;  opposition  of,  to 
the  Jackson  and  Van  Buren  ad- 
ministrations, 59. 

Massachusetts  Coalition,  the,  158. 

Matthews,  Charles,  294. 

McCutcheon,  Mr.,  reminiscence 
of,  181. 


Melodrama,  the  old-fashioned,  180. 

Miller,  Joe,  254. 

Miller,  Capt.  William,  255. 

Ministers,  peculiar  position  of, 
during  Antislavery  struggle,  282. 

Montaigne,  quoted,  52. 

Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortlev, 
305. 

Morrison,  Rev.  Dr.  John  II.,  trib- 
ute to,  40. 

Morton,  Marcus,  his  election  as 
Democratic  governor  of  Massa- 
chusetts, 69  ;  anecdote  of,  ib. 

Murat,  Prince,  294. 

Mustaches,  prejudice  against,  fifty 
years  ago,  294. 

NAPOLEON,  317. 

Negroes,  prejudice  against,  38 ; 
lazy  and  shiftless  character  of, 
in  slavery,  284. 

New  Bedford,  its  whaling  and 
other  characteristics  fifty  years 
ago,  14. 

Newspaper,  the  care  and  attention 
demandedjby  a,  267  ;  true  char- 
acter of  a*  327  ;  the  various  at- 
tempts to  found  a  comic,  344. 

New  York  fifty  years  ago,  292. 

ORATORY  of  fifty  years  ago,  383. 

PAINE,  JOHN  HOWARD,  181. 
Paine,  Robert  Treat,  Jr.,  126. 
Parker,  Theodore,  quoted,  157; 

as  a  preacher  and  speaker,  206. 
Peabody,  Rev.  Ephraim,  40,  358. 
People,  the  good  sense  of,  as  a 

basis  of  faith,  384. 
Phillips,  Stephen  C.,  131. 
Phillips,  Wendell,  oratory  of,  59. 
Philes,  Mr.,  350. 
Pierpont,  Rev.  John,  his  character 

and  works,  45. 
Politics,  abatement  of  interest  in, 

25. 
Popular  literature,  fashions  in,  262. 


392 


INDEX. 


Presidential  elections,  one  feature 

of,  213. 
Printers,  why  they  often  make  such 

good  editors,  324. 

QUAKERS,  their  primitive  quaint- 
ness  aud  simplicity,  18  ;  stories 
of,  19. 

Quincy,  Edmund,  his  letters  to  the 
"  Tribune,"  247. 

Quincy,  Josiah,  85. 

RACHEL,  MADEMOISELLE,  315. 

Heed,  John,  355,  356. 

Republican  party,  matters  of  in- 
terest concerning  its  formation 
in  Massachusetts,  86. 

Retrospection,  the  value  of,  380. 

Rhode  Island,  the  Dorr  War,  and 
what  led  to  it,  103  ;  the  conven- 
tion to  frame  constitution,  108; 
moral  of  the  Rebellion,  114. 

Rider,  Sidney  S.,  &  Bros.,  112. 

Ripley,  George,  ability  of  his  liter- 
ary criticism,  238 ;  tribute  to, 
320. 

Roberts,  George,  263.' 

Rockwell,  Julius,  209. 

Rooker,  Thomas  N.,  his  long  con- 
nection with  the  "  Tribune,"268. 

Russell,  Ben,  329. 

SCHILLER,  quoted  in  regard  to 
Madame  de  Stael,  120. 

Schoeffer,  John,  369. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  novels  of,  32. 

Seward,  William  II.,  career  of, 
temptations  under  which  it  was 
begun,  164  ;  anecdote  of,  at  time 
of  his  Plymouth  oration,  165  ; 
estimate  of  his  character,  167. 

Shanly,  Charles  Dawson,  345. 

Shaw,  Chief  Justice,  74, 138. 

Sheridan,  243. 

Sirams,  extradition  of,  138. 

Slavery,  question  of  the  abolition 
of,  290. 


Sloman,  Mrs.,  a  reminiscence  of, 
182. 

Snelling,  William  J.,  352. 

Sohier,  Edward,  137. 

Specimen  Book,  the,  10. 

Stage-coach  travelling,  300. 

Statesman,  a  sensitive,  278. 

Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  remi- 
niscences of,  274. 

Stevens,  Mr.,  proprietor  of  "  Van- 
ity Fair,"  345. 

Stone,  Dr.,  76. 

Stone,  John  Augustus,  191. 

Sue,  Eugene,  263. 

Sumner,  Charles,  138 ;  entrance 
into  public  life,  159  ;  character 
as  a  public  man,  160  ;  anecdote 
illustrative  of,  163 ;  Brooks's 
assault  upon,  252. 

Swift,  318. 

TALFOURD,  Justice,  189. 

Taylor,  Bayard,  his  travels,  241 ; 
anecdote  illustrating  his  literary 
taste,  243 ;  his  editorial  work, 
244  ;  his  death,  245. 

Temperance,  now  and  fifty  years 
ago,  296. 

Texas,  annexation  of,  80. 

Thackeray,  274,  343. 

Thayer,  Gen.  John  Milton,  99. 

Thompson,  George,  129. 

Thompson,  Mortimer,  275. 

Transcendentalism,  116. 

Tree,  Ellen,  a  reminiscence  of, 
188. 

Turner,  Sharon,  the  exeernble 
manuscript  of  his  "  Sacred  His- 
tory," 269. 

Tyler,  President,  anecdote  of,  80 ; 
administration  of,  81. 

ULLMAN.  HON.  DANIEL,  258. 
Upham,  Hon.  Charles  W.,  152. 

VAN  BUREN,  JOHN,  his  Antislavcry 
principles,  133. 


INDEX. 


393 


Vieuxtcmps,  M.,  197. 
Voltaire,  309. 

WARREN,  CHARLES  HENRY,  anec- 
dote told  by,  58. 

Wiishbura,  Emory,  defeat  by  Know- 
Nothings,  144. 

Wiiyland,  Dr.  Francis,  175 ;  char- 
acter as  a  college  president,  92 ; 
anecdote  of,  94. 

Webster,  Daniel,  56,  379,  383  ; 
anecdote  of,  57  ;  a  reported  say- 
ing of,  CO ;  anecdote  of,  con- 
cerning the  presidential  cam- 
paign of  1840,  67  ;  disastrous 
consequences  of  his  retention  of 
office  under  Tyler's  administra- 
tion, 81 ;  disappointment  of,  at 
nomination  of  Gen.  Taylor,  134 ; 
death  of,  201  ;  anecdotes  of, 
204;  character  of,  205. 

Webster,  Fletcher,  peculiarities  of 
his  character  and  conduct,  83. 

Weiss,  John,  tribute  to,  42. 

Wells,  Judge,  139. 

West,  Rev.  Samuel,  facts  concern- 
ing him  and  his  character,  47. 

Whigs  of  Massachusetts,  their  pe- 
culiar claims  to  respectability, 
60  ;  condition  of  the  party  pre- 
vious to  1840,  65 ;  dissolution 
of  party,  142. 


Whipple,  Edwin  P.,  remark  of, 
concerning  Dr.  Ghoules,  44. 

Whipple,  John,  114. 

White,  Richard  Grant,  373. 

Whitehead,  John,  quoted,  2. 

Whitman,  Mrs.  Sarah  Helen,  176  ; 
her  various  qualities  as  a  writer 
and  person,  122  ;  her  betrothal 
to  Poe,  id. 

Wilkins,  a  reminiscence  of,  341. 

Willis,  N.  P.,  127, 195,  350,  354  ; 
as  a  journalist,  357. 

Wilson,  Heniy,  his  first  entrance 
into  public  life,  70 ;  his  atti- 
tude and  importance  at  the  time 
of  the  formation  of  the  Repub- 
lican party,  87  ;  his  connection 
with  the  Free  Soil  party,  132 ; 
quotation  from  his  "  History," 
133;  his  election  to  Senate  by 
-Know-Nothing  party,  146. 

Winter,  William,  174. 

Winthrop,  Robert  C.,  his  co-op- 
eration desired  in  formation  of 
Republican  party,  88;  concern- 
ing him  and  the  indignation 
meeting  at  time  of  assault  on 
Sumner,  89. 

Wood,  John,  Mr.  and  Mrs., 
314. 

Wright,  Elizur,  Jr.,  153. 


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